TIME TO GO winter light roads dim in the fog trees hold up their evidence a voice going home on the gravel lanes led by deviations written on the inner bark of sycamores the crows fly over they are like us though their words are higher in the air and not so easily lost what happens to a feather they shed is it drifts till something catches it or something else wants to bear it away we should get going the voice will be there before us we can hold hands the going will be easier the chill will leave us if necessary we can sing not so far now pick up your feet and go singing the best help is no help and we struggle so much our beauty has trouble with us