In the Awaiting

I watch the ice drip, melting slowly 
hale, thick branches 
with their delicate tracery of twigs
are shedding their casings 
of crystal drop by drop
until stark they stand 
and black against the cloudy sky 
there is little evidence as yet
that life may be newly stirring
crocus and squill are only
just waking from their winter dreams 
for now is not yet
the season for buds or blooms
the air is still cold and thick
with the songs of geese 
and the sound of wings is like 
a wind from God 
sweeping over the face 
of the wet, dark earth

03/11/23