Not So Fast, Not So Fast

Today, a grim wintry gray

has overtaken the brightness,

that had us dreaming of spring.

It is often that way, here

in the shadow of the great lakes.

At the edge of my small land,

the icy roof of an old shed,

has frozen and refrozen so

often it has finally collapsed,

and for one moment I feel as

cold and crushed as that old roof.

A black bedraggled bird,

that overwinters and lives on

god knows what, shudders in

sound from a power line above.

Its hoarse caw sounds to me like,

Not so fast, not so fast.