Sun salved, we sit on the front porch, careful <br />when we speak, watching the crows swagger near <br />the property line, dabbing – what. A nest <br />of grubs? Ice-wintered berries? New grass shoots? <br />Such purposeful pecking. They pause, sky-tipped. <br />Resume their work. Curious, we step close – <br />a starling twitches at their feet. One eye <br />gone, the other blinking fast, rib cage open <br />to the sun as the snow unravels from <br />our roof, soaking the lawn. Your arm touches mine <br />and all the words we had this morning fall <br />away like the empty husks piled under the feeder, <br />seeds cracked open by the birds, converging.<br /><br />Christianne Balk<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birds-converging/
