She is afield again, searching
for the yellow bird to make her delight
Carrying winter on her back like a weight
bending ever lower in the naked emptiness
of a frozen soul

Enchantment flutters within reach
but her eyes are downcast
deserted, in another world
and not ready to know pleasure that
which comes with the stroking of its wing

Pressed onward by time and inclination
following up the down hill
scrutinizing icicles that hang from her body
that slash at her insides
She knows full well how the answer will come

She reads the roots, gnaws at rhizomes
covers herself with black dirt, scratches deep
and listens intently to every genesis,
 draws out a tiny seed
and presses it tightly between her teeth

Only then does she catch the yellow wing
flapping wildly in the periphery of her eye and
grappling for a foothold, she raises her lips to it
casts a knowing eye towards the gentle sun
and gratefully follows.

Copyright  © 2001 Cara