i
little bird, when did you leave us?
stepped-past, kicked-aside
walked-over
ii
found among the droppings
of the mountain ash, its red heart
a cluster of berries
iii
the head comes apart
to reveal its true centre
a single, pickerel eye
iv
gnathic: did something gorge
briefly? that beautiful throat
conspicuously silent
v
velour of feathers
damp and receding – alive
with snow mold
vi
wintering in this place the body
pauses, ensorcelled
by the serpentine wind
vii
would you wake if I called you
by your other name? redbreast
you’ve slept so long
viii
the next day, one last toboggan
navigates the trail, its scissor and weave
becoming birdflight
