winter withers and I,
as if in a gathering of feathers
take flight.
A braid of copper strands
arcs the wide river,
reaches into promises
like opiate of poppies,
like heralds of beginning
that enter the purple bud.
I notice the flight of leaf hoppers
just above the uncut grass,
its undulation of green
like a soul-search flight…
I remove my sandals…
go bare-foot into the grass.