O.K. They’re back, he says
breaking into my explanation
regarding the challenges of fundraising.
Who’s back? I ask.
Didn’t you hear that terr-eee?
The redwing blackbirds are here.
He lifts his shoulders as if showing off
a swath of red
across the top of his wings.
Funny, I didn’t hear that, I reply.
Eying the marsh outside my window
I notice now
new green is overcoming
the brown wounds of winter.
He touches my sleeve as I lean
over the sink soaping the dishes.
Should I turn to look
into the dark irises of his eyes,
let my attention take wing?