Tuesday, April 23, 2013

4/23/13 in Just-spring, when the world is puddle wonderful

and the robins fill the trees on a snowy morning
dozens, by dozens.

I run from window to window, 
counting madly
trying to subtract the fliers 
from those perched for my census
and there are five dozen.

Five dozen, in seven trees, in sight of me.

I walked outside, entranced, 
to see if the numbers held up down the street.

And there were empty trees.

All of the birds have congregated.
And I am at Ground Zero.


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