I only want to watch the birds
as they flock to the feeders,
a wave of feathers and sleek bodies
vying for a spot.
At noon the finches fill up my porch
with possibility–
dropping down like strange leaves
breathing in the cold air,
living motion.
As winter beats against them,
they flock–
keeping warm with expanded feathers
shaking the dew from their backs
glowing with the challenge of survival.
The birds are impervious to tragedy
but they must know loss,
they must–
On the glittering snow
the mourning doves cluster
to dig for the seed that falls
and their round bodies
melt the surface of my frozen yard.
