Twenty inches of snow on the ground,
I saw a swallow with a blade of dry grass
begin to build a nest on my porch
between an American Corinthian capital
and a gutter, where he or she nests every year.
Welcome, welcome! What can I do to help?
I’ll stay in my warm house, get out of your way,
I’ll watch out for raccoons, and eagles.
I leave apples on the porch, seeds in a bucket.
Where have you been all winter?
I know Welsh swallows winter in Egypt.
It makes me shudder to think you fly south
from the Catskills to the Andes.
The important thing is you’re back.
Suddenly I am in the arms of spring.
I love you but don’t know if you’re a mother
or a father bird. I feel safe with you here.
I think I’ll write the Times: better your nest
than a flock of aircraft carriers in the harbor.