Feeders

You can have birds.

Hang from an eave a feeder
Filled with simple seeds.
They will find it –
 
The little dusty ones first,
Sparrows and wrens and then,

Like flames, cardinals
And orioles and warblers,

The cool blue flash of jays
And buntings,
                        the yin-yang heads
Of chickadees.

They'll splash among the seeds
And sing in the shower, the spillover
Rooting in the grass below.

The air which always
Seemed empty
Will vibrate with wing-flash and whistle.

Sit quietly in the natural
Light of the window and watch,
And feed your hunger for wonder.