The Seasons of our Love

On a soaring hawk's wing,

distant vistas shadow;

we hover over the precipice

of our shielded tomorrows

Two, yoked turtle doves

in budding Spring; satin feathers

nestle on virgin ground

to incubate their desires

Now, tweeting songbirds

serenade the short Summer;

through thin, golden veils

libidinous portents swell

Shortly, two searching Nightingales:

braille in the dark, Fall night,

rendezvous at the Primrose fork,

peer into moth-drained well

Later, two, scavenging crows,

perched on a high wire,

seek Nature's chaff

to survive Winter's dearth

In due course, two, clinging Robins,

in all seasons tightly paired;

the orange zest from each breast

succors two, bleeding hearts