Sunday, January 26, 2014


The cardinals follow not to follow
but to call. Oh, they call after me
and they recall me to someone
with their song. When I'm done,
done chasing the whites that swirl
on top of black ice, where will I go?
The cardinals, they know it and they follow.
They know I'm their red, and the white
skittering snow, more than I am a who
or what watches it and listens
to them in this blue alone.
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