Snowblind
The cardinal at the feeder knows I’m here
Peering from behind the sliding door.
He flutters his denial that I matter--
He must eat; his voice in fact demands it
And there’s snow: cold, blank
Never mind. The black
of sunflowers cracked
And spilled, wards off all human menace
With promises of fuller green.
He is sated now and leaves me to my dream.
