It’s February now but weird-warm
here where the ice shovel stood
in the garage all winter and the cat,
shedding, is so over it now. We
could have done Ithaca without
coats and not had our ears fall
off in the street. We took its light
and now turn north where all
last month’s white is green
or will green soon. Near the home
city when fat flakes hit the windshield,
we find we had missed them. Snow
fills the air like a winter and blows
blossom blasts around the road
to reel us back. And layered above
and through it, line after line of geese
trained to a pull that says wait,
wait, the wheel is turning.
– Originally published in Midwest Quarterly