Chime

The wind chime has been outside our window all winter
hanging from a string of twine, dripping sometimes, with icicles.
Music, chime, sound frozen and mute in the flakes and rolls of snow
the layers of cold wrapped like tight sheets.
Today, in the sun, I hear that chime
I hear spring
I hear robins with their peculiar chubby sounds, and Canada Geese
hoarse honking in their rough throats.