With one slow turn of the head

eyes sift softly through glass and

who should appear but the swallows;

The swallows are back,

zipping and gliding and making mirth–

they are the mirth-makers–

and my heart goes lightly, up and out

with them.

They emerge from a crack in the world,

from beyond there to right here.

How lovely to be with them again.

Together, as sun says goodbye this evening,

we will cut the sky.

We will cut silent sky,

and pull down a net of stars

to sprinkle dreaming

across a blooming desert night.