This poem appears in the Winter 2021 issue of Modern Age. To subscribe, click here.

Just yesterday these trees were bare
But now they’re feathered thick with snow.
Such seasoned stillness holds it there.
The world is quiet, cold—although

I spy a cardinal resting on
A bending, overladen limb;
A bright red ruby cabochon
With diamonds to encircle him.

He looks at me a bit askance
To halt my steps. I acquiesce.
He holds me like I’m in a trance
To merge me with the motionless.