Nostalgic

Jar of feathers becoming,
finally, another map:
cloistered homage to a decade of geese
haunting the grid of our steadfastness.

Un-find the coveted
ibis; kiss the scarlet of the robin's
blurred departure.

In the end, we were landmark,
compass, same as the lingered-over
pond, the marsh
where cattails remained when all else
left. Ragged in salt,
cloud-headed.

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Copyright © 2011 Paula Bohince All rights reserved
from Southwest Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission