Letter to my chickadee:
You know who you are
my dear, one of many
generations who have
come to my feeders,
who have eaten the
seed, suet, and worms
I put there for you so,
selfishly, I could hear
your spirited calls, all
winter long punctuating
the deep silence of the
cold. You know who
you are my tiny black
and white bird, the one
who takes refuge in the
murky winter-green trees,
who is still here now
that spring has erased
the dark and lit a branch
with its ephemeral day.
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