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