as good as any nature center, your office
window. they touch striped antennae. just one,
in the beginning and how they got between
glass and screen and on the second story—
now you count four clinging up down right left, slow
with that deliberate creepy invasion intent.
they have the tell-tale spots and stripes
you can see very well with your hand-lens
of course they fly, but why? you keep watching
the cardinal
a splash of red
on swaying graywhite
tree, fat flakes drifting
driftless wonder
leached bleached or drained
? know-not constant
ceaseless wind a film of
ice in the birdbath
dove flaps and settles
hawk silent still
drawing the eye again
a splash of red
on snow
I was going to let this one languish, but Kerfe inspired me with this lovely post.
Hawk on the fence, intent
looking away; cat on cold stone
watching. A small cat, no bigger
than a rabbit, but perhaps more
than a mouthful with tooth
and claw. Serene, she can see
that for all its size, sleekness, sharp
beak and scream, it’s clearly
merely a bird.
Graceful Press Poetry 