And the March wind's gonna blow
(and what's gonna blow away these blues?)
Here it is: I saw
in the wan grey light of a quick storm,
the very color of the ground and air,
mere shadows in a fragile den
of storm grey mountain mahogany,
a hollow in the shady ridge:
Two roadrunners, Ma and Pa
(thought they were all alone),
lovemaking, in their hasty bower.
A quickie; Pa takes off;
Ma looks smug, puffed out and warm.
I'm indoors, wearing two coats,
huddled up and watching
all the beauty that there is
right here, right now.
Talking With Raven
Grey Spider Press