On Winter's Margin

On winter’s margin, see the small birds now

With half-forged memories come flocking home

To gardens famous for their charity.

The green globe’s broken; vines like tangled veins

Hang at the entrance to the silent wood.

With half a loaf, I am the prince of crumbs;

By snow’s down, the birds amassed will sing

Like children for their sire to walk abroad!

But what I love, is the gray stubborn hawk

Who floats alone beyond the frozen vines;

And what I dream of are the patient deer

Who stand on legs like reeds and drink that wind; -

They are what saves the world: who choose to grow

Thin to a starting point beyond this squalor.