Wow! I must have needed a break. It wasn’t planned. Perhaps life moments from my time away from blogging will filter their way here in coming weeks, or months, even. I missed the uplifting exchange with you and look forward to its return.
In the meantime, here is a small, rough poem that I wrote years ago to mark the turning that this night is.
To a Titmouse at the Feeder
How does your black eye perceive this place
we live? Are you awed
by the detail of bark enflamed with lichen?
I hold my breath, simply forgetting to breathe
while I watch your feet manipulate
my tree, my yard, this planet.
Right now I would believe anything you tell me.
Safflower seeds wait, like a hopper
of patient maggots, to be cracked
against a limb, and you oblige, hammering
with the chisel of your face.
Earthshadow comes to tame the colors of day —
can you tell? Can you taste the adrenaline
of December’s midnight arival
like I can?