Questioning

Today the weather changed again, and the first cranes flew over going north.

Questioning

Days of questioning
between sun-spills and cloud-shadow,
the sharp sting of cold
when the wind snaps,

the plaintive sound
of a kitten crying
somewhere among the trees,

and high, higher than we clay-footed can dream,
the wild, unreasoning crank-cronk
of returning cranes,

that turns all questions to answers,
the same, ever-repeating circular answer—
home.