The sun has lost it’s domain,
waves of snow birdsshroud its light.
A handful of starlings quiver on bare branches
tiny in their fixed feathers,
they could fit into the
palm of a hand.
Their fragile song suspended
in frozen breath,
they sing for the reachof an outstretched hand
clinging to a red-tailed kite
above a field of sunflower faces
or wildflowers in full bloom.