Remembering a Valentine sent to me by a poet from India,1989
by Sandra Fowler
You meet the moment with your solace thought.
Your fingers sketch a gray house far away.
Its window lights are warming cool resolve.
I think and know that we are almost home.
They tell me that a red bird has no soul
And yet I choose it for my metaphor.
Its spirit skims above half-frozen roads.
One hand is clapping for the death
With beautiful precision how your words
Eliminate each snowflake from my mind.
Yes, I accept your red bird valentine
Praising the strength that thought it over seas.