A Cold Morning


crystals on the glass
snowflakes, frozen dancers
like fragile tree twigs
waves reaching for the sunlight
disappearing as it melts



In tall trees I see many-a big nest.
Did the Crows compete to see whose was best?
A swarm of small dark birds, a long ribbon —
undulates through the sky, cold forgiven.
Fluttering wings, a shadow through the blind,
it’s the Blue Jay, whose friendship I don’t mind.
Their golden undershirts, feathers, showing,
as the Starlings hop through the grass, pecking.
Perched on bare tree limbs the large black Crows caw;
Are they passing judgment on what they saw?