Lake Michigan Aubade
Mist rises, March morning
a song bird’s longing shears moist air,
drifts from thickets.
From empty porches of summer homes
wind chimes play, hollow melodious shards of clay.
And the lake never ceases sounds in March:
ice chunks chink, shards break and break
against the shore.
Waves dash ice against troll caves of ice
and break ice feet.
Mist rises from green briars
where wild birds braid their songs
through tangled skeins
and the blood that rushes through my veins
echoes
the waves
on shore.
Excerpted from my book, The Wilderness Within
This book is available from Barnes & Noble, The Bookman, Schulers Books, and many other fine bookstores.
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