Reedy and intent,
his song is automatic —
Robin in springtime.

Robins rushing out
from the woods during the snow —
oh, January.

Leaving the day here,
we walk off into the night,
free Robins singing.

The last light of day,
anointed in this forest,
your absence, your smile.

Woods full of Robins—
every other call is theirs,
round-eyed and running.

The first of April,
he’s been waiting all winter,
this Robin, singing.