Winter Poems

Choir of Robins 

On the first of February
I might have overlooked the fact
that South Dakota was 39 degrees—
frozen in my belief that spring
was eternally far away, as far
away as last Halloween, maybe farther—
had it not been for the choir of robins
singing in the frostless treetops
like it was already the first of May.
Weatherbirds with a warmer
premonition than me, as I plodded down
the sidewalk melting underfoot.

Unloading Groceries

Fat snowflakes mute
the night, drifting
slant through the glow
of a streetlight,
a beacon reminding
me that the cold is
worth the calm.

While Hibernating 

There is little to write about
but hibernating,
the long, slow wait
for the sun
to melt the snow
from my page.