The Warning Cry

The warning cry of wild geese from cold and cloudy roads
As they go winging over on a dripping March night
Stirs a stifled world, is an end to winter peace,
Turns me suddenly restless and sleep is broken and light.

Now, if ever, I reconcile my brother-to-stone body
When geese come spring honking through the misty air
With its own solid virtues, with the honor of its ways,
Lest my heart recall your flight and go dry with despair.