afternoon now

nothing but sun
that yellow weight of warmth
winter had pilfered
without my knowing what it took
whatever was stolen
the sun returns
full measure
all that's required
is the holding out of hands

she never calls me anymore

i imagine

               feeding a few ruffled sparrows—

                      greyish little creatures
                      with their pointed wings

i lose myself
              in their fork-like prints
                      where scrapping for tid-bits of bread
                      some had lost small feathers
                                                                buried now

                                                                            as the day grows blind with snow