Driving back from Foodland
along the road lined with snow
as the darkness begins to seep,
I think: how nice would Lisbon be,
bacalhau and chickpea puree, as
the sun lends my glass a ruby,
and a tap of heels echoes through
the steep and narrow Alfama streets.
And later I’m home and I shut the
car door and hear a chickadee
peeping sweetly in the hemlock.