TRACKLESS

My heart knows the skyways of south-winged flocks.
The swift broad curving wind like riptide
      pulls my soul yearning from my bones -
           naked, small, like something not yet born.

I do know where the cold wind nests.
I’ve taken care to mark the place.
Come some sunless dawn, tomorrow or after,
to find me gone, flown. And trackless,
the snow lies deep across the field –
beneath its heap my love lies still.


J