One Day, in the Woods

I imagine the woodpecker
to be tapping out a message,
which carries over time
and distance
to where Spring's love
lies buried,
captured
by Winter's bitterness
and distance
until
the woodpecker's rhythm
is joined by the blatting
of the cackling goose
and the calls
of small children
searching for first blooms.
So Spring stretches her arms
and runs a finger
down the back of Winter's neck
and he melts.