At the End of Winter

I waited for you to come for me,
All day.
But you had so many things to do,
You'll say.
It's hard to love someone who prefers,
To be away.
The sun set far too slowly.
Today.
The eagles leapt into the pinking sky,
To play.
One landed on my balustrade,
And looked at me with a curious directness.
I got it some food from the kitchen.
But I guess it didn't like the taste of my tandoori.
Who can say?
What eagles want and what they see,
When they sometimes perch so silent
And judgmental on my balcony.
I am haunted by birds.
I was hollowed by her.
I am the winter burning,
Down to the summer sulphur.
I am the river turning to dust,
Littered in the ways left of me.
How I ran through the hills,
On my way to the sea.
The bears who danced in my waters,
The eagles who soared above me.
I turned every rock I came upon,
Into a lover or a slave.
And though I crashed against them,
With all my elemental fury.

I turn slowly to vapor while they survive,

Laughing with what remains of me.