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.