Sick, my body rung out, shivering, sweating.
It's a November morning, cold but sunny.
I lay in the living room, the sun shining through
the sliding glass door on the back patio.
-
As I shake, clutching the comforter tight,
burning up but feeling ice cold, I see a cardinal,
singing his song on the naked tree branch,
see the still bright winter sun halo his head.
-
He sings into the crisp air, probably calling for
a mate; like so much human talk, it's call and response
sent out into the world, things of beauty to be heard,
so we are not alone.
-
He flies away, a crimson blur smeared against
the sacred white sky, gone to wherever birds go.
The sun is shining on my face. It's rays warm me.
Even from so distant in space, it's rays warm me.
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