347: You'll Live On

They watch him go

in the early spring.

Footsteps, light,

like the warm breeze

thawing the snow.

He flies

with wings

of scattered sunlight

and joy.

They look for him

in the heat of summer.

The wind blows sand

from far beyond

the southern horizon.

The air is dry,

acrid.

There is no rain.

They look for him

when the leaves fall.

The wind is northerly,

cold with frost.

The sunlight

fades

below the horizon.

They look for him

when crystals crawl

across the window panes,

when icicles chime

from the eaves,

and smoke rises

from the forge.

They look for him

in the footprints left

by bullfinches

and migrating geese.

When spring comes again,

they hear him whisper

in the dull thuds

of a woodpecker:

"I never left."

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Written by: Katrine Hjulstad

Instagram: @katrinehjulstad

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Publisher's note: All poetry published with Eudaemonia Records has been viewed and commented on by our editors. Ultimately, however, we believe that it is the writer's decision to accept or reject any suggestions made by the editors, and therefore take no responsibility for the final product.