A Great Bird Flies In

The hands have released

And folded onto aching knees

Then we are out there alone

Toddling, placing uneasy steps

Moving from choice to the next

Like they were coffee tables

As we learn to stand

Or moving out onto a pond

Some Sunday after Christmas

Knowing death walks near

Ice groaning, unsympathetic

My Father's foot prints

Swallowed up by blowing snow

A great bird flies in one night

And roosts in the rafters

The same one Abraham saw

When he lifted his dagger

Now we must answer for this!