Today’s Weather
I opened this morning to chickadees,
their color same as the chiaroscuro
sky, the roil of clouds, the forecast
storm, but still illumination enough
for this book called feather and cloud,
and the birds not clouds clatter their
five notes, iterations of what sound
like annoyance at the empty feeder,
branches that rock, me watching
the other side of a window I do not
open, a litany of let me in’s and let me
out’s, about how everyone always wants
something more: bed, salt, meat,
distance between fences.
Clerestory Poetry Journal 