Day One: National Poetry Writing Month

A poem a day for the month of April

Junco

Nine storms layered
and pressed into deeply sparkling
concrete snow; even the deer
walks on top.

Hundred Robin Hill
crossed and frozen bounding coyote paths
persistent upon damp brown grass
like royal icing.

A clear warbled bell,
a song from gray branches on gray sky,
a joyous song. Too early for requite;
a small wind of promise.  

Like yesterday, the song
three times only today, and day before yesterday
Nine times layered; even the snow
recalls the melody.