Though only on the edge of the long darkness

of the north, the days, as they always do,

had shortened here to barely six hours

of daylight. The next day, imperceptibly,

the light began to change, to lengthen.

…as if on the bridge of some vast ship

the command were given to turn the wheel

scarcely a degree, and sail the vessel sunward,

the rigging taut with southerly airs,

storm petrels following in the ship’s long wake…

For a week now a pair of blackbirds

has visited the terrace each morning,

in the best of light, to dart and peck

for insects. Each year the weather warms.

Each year the nesting begins earlier.

…as if two lovers shared the same dream –

a garden of lemon trees and apricots,

of music and poetry and fountains,

where their companionship might prosper – but woke

to find themselves in a windswept boneyard…

Although the physics of this mystery, this

near miracle should last, the biology

may not – the sun will still probably shine

in a world without birds and nests and eggs,

and the silent earth spin.