Equinox
A poem by John Ziegler

Equinox

The days turn silver,
chilled and clean
as a platter of raw oysters.

Soon, wool socks.

Black bear grows fat and sleepy.
Butterfly finds winter quarters
in dry leaves rolled like cigars.

Hummingbird jets south
across the gulf, no food no sleep,
clean to Mexico.

I yearn for roasted meat,
acorn squash, pie.
 
I remember cardinals in the snow.
They look so fine against white—
red feathers, eyes peering through mascara.

At day’s end, while sun warms my shoulders,
I push my hat back and listen for geese.

About the Author:

John Ziegler is a poet and painter, a gardener, a traveler, originally from Pennsylvania, who recently migrated to a mountain village in Northern Arizona.

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