My Equinox

 Most of the time, 

Most of my life I look west 

Instinctively 

On this axis where home sits, my

Gaze is due west. 

The gift of ephemera, as nothing 

Interrupts yearning 

At first I needed to go, 

Home,

And I did

Those long and precious years

And now, 

I’m just not sure 

But the comfort is this difficult 

Horizon.

I follow

Old Sun from an eastern sky

Painted by the still mirrors of the lakes, 

Wintering faint, ghostblues, grey chill of pink, but still

Sunset.

Winter.

Presently now 

I find I’ve been watching more

I watch the sun

In this newly-seasoned skying to

That prairie. 

The snow for now is gone,

And as I wait for the loam, 

The sky blooms gold as it lopes west. 

Covert 

March 11