dearth

the day seems restless, undecided -
the trees shake and sway in the
wind, then are still - the sun
comes in and out, burning,
concealed, it is hot it is cold

unusual bird song makes me
look up:  two goldfinches
visit our feeder, their black
eyes gleaming, their crimson
faces startling, beautiful
white markings and gold
flashes:  such heraldry

a little black bee is lost,
bumbling against the glass,
thirsty in this dry place
of no green, eventually
he finds the open door and
freedom - may it be so

for all of us, lost in dry
places with a thirst on our tongue

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