It had snowed the night before.
The boards of the dock were white,
the morning water grey and starting to move
I wanted to stay inside, under the covers,
but we got up and went for a hike
on a new trail to a new lake.
We walked past marsh grass
brittle as spun glass
and crossed small brooks,
also looking for the lake.
Too much to do, we turned back.
That afternoon we closed the cabin,
drove toward home.
Clusters of snow buntings
rose unexpectedly along the road,
flashing white wings
in a purposeful way.
They flew before the car
like porpoises leading a ship.
Go here!  Look here!

Bart Galle spent most of his professional life in medical education, a field in which he now works part-time for the Heart Failure Society of America. He is a gallery owner and artist specializing in pastel painting, the book arts, and installation pieces combining the two. His interest in poetry grew out of the death of his youngest son in 2002, when it provided a means for expression and learning. He was a finalist for the 2007 Loft Literary Center’s Poetry Mentorship. His poems have been published recently in White Pelican Review, Main Channel Voices, and Coe Review.  He and his wife live in St. Paul, Minnesota.