At the horizon,
little green buds breaking through
the gray skin below.
Drawing waterfalls,
the child’s hand stops, then turns,
before touching ground.
The quiet blue sky:
no room for the feisty crows
now screaming earthward.
Shadow of the tree:
its gnarled fingers ensnare
all that passes by.
The little sparrow
facing the cold brick building:
its eyes open, shut.
Freshly fallen snow:
too light to cover the field
of yellow blossoms.
A crack in the stone:
even the midday sun fails
to remove the rain.
The wavering limb:
all that is left of the bird’s
momentary home.
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