He came through snow that swirled into drifts out in the cold
blue dusk. You could feel it enter the darkening house with him;
candles guttered as the outer door closed. Silence filled throats
eyes, assembled guitars. He stomped the snow off his boots
as you could hear somebody greet him in the entryway.
Down the hall a clock ticked and in the kitchen
a refrigerator motor stopped: Freon gurgled. A log in the fireplace
fell in a shower of sparks, and he walked into the room.
Everybody watched him, heard familiar pieties
then watched the other stand and cross ten years
of silence over a once blooded disagreement
that slid away as the two men hugged and smiled.
Some say they heard birds singing in the midst of the
laughter and music that followed; some say trumpets, others
a chorus of voices singing— I favour trumpets, a whole blasted orchestra.
The music spread, and with it, laughter and hints of spring.
