W I NTER DREAMS
death stalks the night rattles and crouches through skeletal trees & withered chamisa its frozen breath scours still streams searching for life to snuff out: those with fur, feathers — or none at all — will they survive the night?
precious lives had burst forth in spring rains, summer storms, autumn richness rainbow feathered who hunted under each leaf and bark crevice. now they are the hunted, ready to fall.
death stalks & plucks them from branches and dens — those with feathers puffed dream of millet, of lasting through the dawn.
behind walls, in bed we blink at ceilings — always three in the morning death, an insulated thing, we think — … while something rattles at window walls.