Elm against sky in brittle winter creates a puzzle of blue pieces a game of chance and glass seen below or is it ice I wonder do you see it too across vast snow fields where birds fly cawing into sky their black wings satin and shining purple against white so far away they could be twigs themselves in a moment, caught encased in ice silvery, enchanted.
Every morning you call to me. Long after the leaves have fallen, you still come to perch on thorny branches. Today your song is a reproach: tsk, tsk. I couldn't sleep again. I rise from bed, my hip aching and watch you pick your way, through frozen tufts of grass. Your red does not fade. I want to be like you and never lose my appetite for morning.
Soft comes the hush of eventide And songbirds hide In limbs of budded trees To bid farewell to setting sun With lullabies they've sung Each night for centuries. A lark is winging swiftly home - Black dot alone - Beneath auroral clouds. All nature makes a homeward rush As twilight's rosy blush The eyes of night arouse.
Lovely tree, Yesterday wild winds of winter combed your black and twining hair. When dawn blinked You emerged softly capped in ermine, star-kissed with diamonds. Wind's sharp breath caught in his throat and sun, stricken sun, can't turn his eye from you.
My favorite color is navy blue, the color of a childhood book about stars. My father read it to me on the couch, took me outside and showed me the Big Dipper, and the Little Dipper, and how to find the North Star. All of this was right in front of our house. We looked up into the sky until it looked back. The book said we spin without realizing it. It told where we are in the Milky Way but my father and I don't know how we got here. Neither of us mentions it. We do not know how to do the math on astronomical odds as big as that.