I stand by the window
in front of my kitchen sink
in the motionless mid-winter noon
I'm thinking
Wandering
and I hear a bird call
through the cold air
from the height of it's branch
A saddest loneliest bird song
A plain unpretty song
more like a sound
but not quite enough to make it not a song
Plus
I know songs that sound like that
From high branches
In the blossomlessness of winter
It had just one song to sing in it's heart
It's heart had a one clear echoing sad little bird song to sing out
one time
to crack the clear ice
of the winter air
It sang not even loud
But it didn't have to be