Again and again
they come to the feeder,
a pair of Tufted Titmice in softest gray,
buff bellies and hints of rust
beneath darker wings,
their crests flaring as they
wrestle with the sunflower seeds.
Three mourning doves waddle
more sedately through the inch of snow,
their feet leaving a herringbone pattern,
shot through with only
the tallest blades of grass.
Today, I will walk through a murmuring woods,
the wind rubbing bare branches
and pine boughs together
reminding me how roots,
spread and entwined beneath the frozen ground,
still make love with the wind.
Find the entire poetry collection This Nurturing Awe: Poems Inspired by the 99 Beautiful Names of God at