Cameron Norris
morning dew frosts the shoots of oncoming tulips
and the rooftops slicks
sidewalks, damp grey-green pebbles
a little, white grumpy figure glides under the clear blue sky like
a kite silently through the air, lonesome, no flock high up
on the peak of the eave
above my room over the flowering strawberry tree beige stucco colored pale orange in the early rising sun ash freckles sprinkled over wings like milk he rustles his feathers silently his bowed head preening
before narrowed golden discs peer down, reflecting light
at my small form, a cocoon on the slick ground I look up with a frown,
squinting against the sun that can’t yet thaw the cold
as I stand like an uneven mound icy air burns the tips of my toes, of my fingers, of my nose.