A  Slice of Moonlight

enters my
   bedroom
      window
         bright
            enough
               to inspect
                  the pale
                     skin on
                        the inside
                           of my left
                              forearm
                                 for the
                                    indelible
                                       stain of
                                          invisible
                                             numbers

Snowbirds

The snowplow hasn't come yet to dig us out
The New York Times isn't in the driveway
where, like a stick to be fetched, it's tossed
each morning. I sip my morning coffee
and look at the black-eyed junco with
charcoal coats and fat white bellies
hopping on a thin crust of snow, pecking
at seed, dropped by the winter-drab finch
In spring these finch turn a dazzling yellow
A red-tailed hawk, intent on breakfasting
dives out of an oversized page of Audubon
swoops up a finch at the feeder, which
I wish I had not remembered to fill
I didn't mean to set the scene for a winter kill

© Copyright, 2013, Ann Holmes.
All rights reserved.