sits on the sill
sheltered with the ledge
of the listening deeper.
Shall I fish it from the wind
flowing the curtains
fluttering as a freedom’s wink?
Or maybe, I will peer
thru the glass lightly
fogging a heart-shaped spot
that is as transitory
as the moment
that has now slipped into
the past
where the cardinal’s song reverberates
from the bare-boned scrub willows.
Wrapping myself in the afghan’s colors
I know to take the weave
and string a lifeline to whatever
will transpire.
mj poem
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