When Things I’ve Missed Return

The sandhill cranes returned this week,
in graceful formations that cut through the fog
and gray skies. Surprised, I heard their muted
trumpet calls and turned to welcome them.
The sandhill cranes returned, and robins, rain,
and willow green, too, and tulips poking through,
and like one who waits for the sight of a soldier
descending the hill towards home, when things
I’ve missed return again, the sharp pain of yearning
releases a thousand blossoms of something like hope
to bloom in the world I still imagine possible: peace,
perhaps–families sure of their footing, and safe,
the integrity of justice clean and certain as breath.
I bow to our Earth, that still takes time to renew
love’s promises, delivering old friends, flying back
like memories of better days, sounding good news
to hold in my heart against the coming storms.

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