with the mockingbird? Is there a warmth tucked among 
its feather–dress that knows dawn’s cold 
will flee like the patio’s puddles?  

Is God in the song it shouts to the geese, married 
in the sky, and to every bird that homes in on 
the neighbor’s pond this morning?  

And to what purpose the high-wire hop—a one-bird 
showstopper to help this gray world to a smile? 
Lower than the angels we certainly are,  

but around us on our green trampoline a host of spotters— 
both feathered and earth-bound—circles, loyal to their  
service they keep wise watch and sow blessing.