Where You Were Headed
A poem.
February 29, 2012
Where You Were Headed
It didn't matter. It was how the pileated woodpecker
squatted to her belly
and draped and dipped her neck,
one side,
then the other,
to her chest
in a rivulet of melted snow.
It was how the wind
rubbed across the pines
and the clear melt
washed down every road rut
all that afternoon.
– Franco Pagnucci