When the Snow Geese Fly

When the snow geese fly to the warming marshes,
when the ice melts on the pond in the wood,
when the sweet breath of fresh-mown hay
lofts over us and settles on the fields,
I will remember you have been a blessing,
a quiet steady force

We will sit at the kitchen table and eat
fresh eggs and ripened tomatoes
from the garden

I will trust that all my shattered
pieces will knit together again

and I will go when the day breaks