Snow swept all clean but
the needle-like footprints
of the doves, never just one
but a covey of coo-ers

feeders full, songbirds’ notes
as light as the snowfall
barely balanced on spiny, black
branches where they perch

and peck, but the doves! gray gleaners
content with the offal spilled under
the rose arch where ashen sunflower seeds
lie fat and crackable now from snow melt

re-blanketing the three flat boulders
from the nursery down the road
where I found them Can you bake
a peach cobbler? a trade, he wanted,

with soft, dove eyes when I asked
how much do I owe you? Yes, I was in
the presence of coo roo coo coo coo—
ancient chant trilled from frozen thorns

hopeful, patient, wise