On otherwise lifeless
tansy stalks, a green sprig
and a single yolk-
colored bloom. Snowflakes
drift past: far-flung voyagers,
their exile brief, their nostalgia
cut and crystalled with salt.
Harbor me in cold earth,
my winter lover. I long
for home most of all
when small birds come
to forage for seed
and light sieves
through cracks
in stones.
—Luisa A. Igloria
12.18.2010
Borrowing lines from the Morning Porch entry for December 4.
