97poems/perched

I am perched here
at my desk,
which is suffering
a bit of neglect,
gathering disarray,
spring’s new day.

Outside my window
the limbs which
I feared dead,
and almost cut away,
are leafing again.

I sip a gentle tea
of cardamon, cinnamon and ginger.
It settles me
so that I am able at last
to do what my father urged years ago,
to “light somewhere,”

just here
where I can hear
the faintest song
of spring’s first birds.

3/21/97