When it’s my time, let me not miss
springtime in Vermont. Windows open,
thrushes, warblers, chickadees,
spangled flute songs,
and on the radio children’s voices
in an old cathedral bringing Requiem aeternam.
Melted I am from the white void
by the alchemy that transforms twigs and buds
to baby greens and full-leafed trees
open to the eye of the sky.
Yellow daffodils, lately entombed
rise to multiply on the meadow slope.
Robin couples flutter and nesting
near peach and purple tulips.
Spring lets its fledglings loose.
I move my arms, conducting orchestra
and chorus, directing last snow
everywhere else to also melt.
We’ve been together for so long,
the world and I.
Kyrie eleison. How I wish to hold in mind
Mount Philo and the mountains that enclose us,
our love alive in the family of Vermont springtime,
Greek phrases of grace.
Kyrie eleison, lord have mercy,
coming in the clear voices of children.
Published in “The Aurorean,” Spring/Summer, 2017 and published in “Birchsong Poetry Anthology”