Valentine

Merely the hem of the skirted storm, pretty and neat, and small.

Canada Geese dropped to the pond in our midst.

We, dropping to sleep, heard a single soft honk,

one meant to assure: All clear.

Morning light scatters.

A still surface shields more fluid dark shimmers;

rafts of icy scrim reflect the snow.

Inlets form two tangent pools—ventricles of one heart.

Pliant as skin, ice yields to the geese. They bead the snow-banked edge,

assembling as though the pond might speak.

In reply they'll compose themselves

as a poem.

 

For the sky, the silver of tarnished sterling; on the ground, petals

a pale rose.

©2015 Ravenna Taylor