Redwing

You may not see us again in this place,
noshing on this bright juiciness that glints
a starlike pattern to our hungry pace
amongst this manmade feast’s blazing red hints

added crunch in my beak of skitterers
below in harsh gust, pelting fall of wet
and snow. Alive to slightest twitch feather
of shadow or tick of twig or leaf fret.

When your warm arrives we flit fast up North
to have our bairns, teach them to fly, how we read the patterns in the blue and bright forth
of flashes in the dark Overness. We

may bring them to your wild patterns, of blue
and specks in the black Overness, to you.