Here I will find
everything I need.
There is no e-mail
and no telephone.
There are no waves
playing leap-frog
for the shore;
the wind's long fingers,
combing thru the trees.
Here I only need
to feed the fire
in the hearth,
and in my own soul.
All afternoon
I watch the gliding gulls,
until I know the way
to send my messages
as easily;
aim one toward Canada,
then Cleveland,
then the Isle of Skye;
imagine them arriving
at their destinations,
coming to rest
upon a shoulder
far away.
Across the world
a pair of eyes
lifts from the page.
The snow begins to fall
outside the window.
-- Deb Cooper