Watch the redbird’s movement

It knows where to go and what to do

The sharp spear of its plume,

red and black markings

against blue grass and flower bed,

dazzle the eye


Now look at me, an old bird

shivering at the coming of winter,

feet nailed down by questions,

knowing a lot about a little,

not much about anything,

yet to take to the wind

of my own accord:


A creature of wings without feathers

in long nights of silent leaves