Chinook
       

Come January, let winter unweave
its wreath of departures.
The cold cup of morning emptied,
a warm wind arrives at my door.
Each afternoon sunlit work begins
its solitary melt through snow banks.
Past the white steam of the cove,
a bevy of geese unlatches from the lake.

Give me the young stag mounting his mate,
the first crack of release in the ice-encrusted
shore. Give me a hot wind stirring
the soft beds of pine needles and moss,

a Chinook waking the eagle from his nest
in the tall snag next to the dirt road.
He takes off to survey his kingdom, where,
beneath the thick waves, each fish stirs
and rises toward his urgent cry.

Copyright © 2009 Geraldine Connolly All rights reserved
from Hand of the Wind
Iris Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission