In a northern place,
don’t welcome spring with open arms.

She approaches sideways.
Like a cat, don’t look at her directly
you’ll only disturb her, she’s only
a shadow in the evening
light lingering longer
on frozen lakes
She’s only footprints dissolving
where the deep snow loosens to mush
she’s the cry lonely
of geese – not the great V’s honking
overhead, like last October, just two or three together

The shroud of snow still heavy
heavy on the river path.

Remember the spring when you died
I walked in dreams past open doors
sat down in wooden pews where rivers
ran past, furious meltwater

In empty space, still I knew
to glance again, aslant
to see you’d entered sideways
softly, on cat’s feet
from the corner of my eye, if I did not turn my head

the shroud might lift, I might

Glimpse the coming glory.