Here’s my stab for Day Five, using Stanley Kunitz’s poem, End of Summer, for my prompt, using the same first letters in each line (okay, I cheated in the last line) and following loosely the line length. (okay, I cheated there too!) (oh, and I didn’t rhyme . . . whoops!)
The Sandhill Cranes of San Luis Valley
A half-thermal of air
and a left off Highway 160
arrested the cold of glacial farm fields
we passed, shaken by a year of such frost
we will not forget. We stand in a rutted drive
amid winter refuse and ditches, unready to be
awoke, to go glittering beneath the half-fences,
the dark of our cameras we uncap
blown with such light we had forgot.
A crane flies out of a wind block of marsh,
then wave after wave of rose-tipped cranes plow
the winter sky, the cold we’ve owned.
Already what we prayed for
craters us into unimaginable spring: a volcano’s
old mouth, we dared to enter, enflamed
by cranes, thousands in old potato fields, and leaping.