Cedar Waxwings, October 26

Snow on sumacs and they whirl down
Defining sleek
Velvet masks, paint-dipped tails
Porcelain, breathing.

Frost comes early or late
Sometimes it waits
and the mandevillas keep blooming
like Christmas in Jamaica.

This morning, too early,
a taint in the air
of greenery, dying
The same smell hurricanes leave.

The jessamine, translucent in death,
drops small blossoms.
They'd have scented the whole kitchen
Had I remembered to bring them in.

I crunch through icy grass
The souls of dying plants
Rise up around me.

Thank you, birds, for staying
though I have nothing to offer you
You seem content there, in the glowing birch
To look at me, looking at you.


the first poem vanished in a scheduled outage
which turns out to be a good thing
Second go is better--JZ