Snowfall
janine canan
Fat little junco
in black silk hood
stuffs from thistle feeder
dangling under snow-filled eaves.
While flakes
flutter from feather heaven,
ski the edge of wind,
thud off bushy cedar's burdened limbs.
Behind my window I step
too close, and away he flies.
When I yield my pen to glories of white --
he returns to feast under the flowing skies.
