Really, I don’t want            
      to write about                        
            this dark. I crave light,  

to see the moon            
      face in daytime,                        
            some sun to fracture  

another ragged day. Long            
      after midnight                        
            I remembered to fill  

the feeder. My porch            
      is a watchtower                        
            of cold and stars.  

At daylight a housefinch,            
      a redbird, a titmouse                        
            were in line for breakfast,  

taking turns, charitable            
      as the clouds soon                        
            binding the morning sky.