2 early

olive vestige
ruminates early
is master robin
hints of spring
not my thinking

hummingbirds

hummingbirds huddled in a row
seeking warmth from the back porch light
tourists of all kinds feathers guard

me

trees have clusters of leaves
ants live in colonies
birds fly in flocks
crickets and me
chirp along

snow

little yellow birds
stripe away the seeds
as tiny snow flakes
cover their backs

so says me

yellow warbles sing my favorite song
announcing sweetly they want more thistle
so sings birds to me

pale with cream and rice of white
desserts should always be puddings
so sings me to myself


squash and yams and carrots
vegetables yellow of all kinds
so sings me

not yet

a tiny island near the river bridge
yield home to huddles of geese
blended beneath frosty dew
capped unresponsive ice
their cue to leave
hasten their go

burr cold

eagle sitting in cottonwood
gleaming exquisiteness
down by the river

watching the water he was
flowing ice by monday
he knows he knows

staying the winter here
showing off dazzling beauty
i love finding one i love finding one

mornings sun not far away

canyon where the river rolled
fog fused flaxen from village lights
radiates falsely warmth from icy cold
knot the game birds at sulfured springs
wearing their own down filled collared vest

blue line road

off down a blue lined road i go
friend crow flies any ole way
we meet on corners
from time to time
crow shows me what he sees
a forest dense blocks my view
no one croons to me now but crow

meander

keen my crow that knows
peacemaker so mislaid
not so smart crow is
tongue tied me is
i wander on
and black crow smiles

space

black crow flinging stars
into place with his wing tips
easily bringing joy to my heart
moon but a slice still cold and white
can always bring laughter to my lips
crow and me sits shivering at cliffs edge
wondering how the universes exist without us

drifting to the moon

me and crow drinks to the moon
we watch the sky drip coloured black
me and crow drinks to the moon
we comfort from our shoulders square
me and crow drinks to the moon
we never tire of its white drifting by
me and crow drinks to the moon

philosophy of crows

crow says fly with right shoulder forward when in a liberal zephyr
crow says fly not if weatherman points to phenomenon specious
crow says fly straight if its a forceful baseless gale
crow says fly clear of obdurate lightning ascend your moment
crow says fly fast if its officialdom hail finding a better prophecy
crow says fly away shielding pretty feathered crown change your paradigm
crow says if its lovin youre missin fly low

winter

its eagles nesting time
and they have begun
yet three degrees
all others flee

sharp shinned hawk

pale striped breast
morning sun does warm
sits miss hawk
on banister of mine
alternately tapping
one foot with the other
as might we
in twelve degrees
coffee cup in hand
i watched an hour
till away sailed she
my friend hawk