the grey bird
huddles w/in
the spring-sparse bush
leaves tucked
in tiny green envelopes
wait beside her
and dreaming inside the dull
grey stems white flower blossoms
w/ honey-gold centers
that will call out to the ants
and their aphids and to all
the season’s winged cup-bearers!
but today it’s a raw-branched bush
reeking of winter
and the bird is deep inside it
holding herself closed
nurturing something w/in
her bright-colored mate
lights on the feeder by my window
snatches a black oil sunflower seed
and carries it to her
she opens her orange beak
accepts the seed he offers
and he and she
do this over and over
over and over
This the world over