Like the sky maps sketched
in the bird brains of the geese
flying overhead this morning
in their flocks and vees,
your gentle face is etched
into my genealogy.
I hear their honk and chatter
loud and clear; they fly by
as if it doesn’t matter
that a day cannot be erased
by hoar frost. Yes, it’s here again,
sparkling like it did four years ago,
stiffening remaining leaves and
silvering the grass outside my window.
Kim M. Russell, 9th January 2021