Why the Skylark Sings a New Song

Curiosity awakens every
spring, beginning with new sweetness in the
air, where before was winter’s clawing
at my face and biting nose and ears. Now
I have leisure for imagining. I’m
like an ancient tree whose roots extend—
how far? Beneath the seas? And if they end
at all, is it in paradise? Do they
then intersect and mingle with the roots
of all the other trees in all the forests?
Out of loneliness and curiosity
we reach, for love embrace and never choose
to separate, though we encounter secrets,
buried deep, in stages of decay,
and honesty—eternal. Truth remains;
it is the angel at my side, who stays
for courage and as friend, protector, guide,
through every transformation—life to death
and into life again.

If I were a vine, what sorts of flowers
might I bear—lantana, honeysuckle,
trumpet creeper—gathering until
perhaps we form a bower or a planet?
Songbirds flutter ‘round our vanguard, curious
like us to see what happens when the sun
approaches and the snow melts. Oh, what clever
greenery will grow around us in the
days to come? Will there be a new
carnation or a brighter, redder peony?
We are eager, but content to wait;
and the skylark makes a song out of our
wondering.