by Robert Rice

The great snows have come.

The world above you white,

the world below you white.

Snow falls on deciduous

and the earnestness of spruce

as if summer had never been.

Cranes lift from the cold fields,

discarding them to coyote and quail.

They pass on ancient flyways cheering

the mad songs of the wind

and you tramping below

are not even a matter for comment.

Things are breaking you did not expect.

The animals of your grief follows you

a short step behind. Only this path to set you right.

High in the mountains where time slows

the cranes climb, cross ridges chanting

their book of spells, clamoring prophecies,

and disappear into their own distance.

Call them. They will not answer

but when the time is right

they will return with news,

telling you of more grief to come,

saying you’ve lost nothing, telling you

to begin again.

Robert Rice’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in numerous literary magazines. Rice’s chapbook Space that Carries Light Forever was selected by Jane Hirshfield as one of two chapbooks in the Wildhouse competition to be published in 2024, and one of the poems has been submitted for a Pushcart Prize.