HOme for Winter
by Eva Hays
I cup my palms towards the sky
like if I wait for her, she will fill them
with her burning warmth.
I see a falcon catching hiccups of wind,
notch in its left wing,
a plastic bait-and-tackle box
tucked under the guard rail
in sandy grit at the pond shore.
I find that in my absence,
time pours new molds
yet the feeling
of being brought back to life by the wind
follows me through every sunset.