There is winter by touch
there is winter in hills
and birds will not surprise,
as a cold wind leaves them (and us)
gasping. The wind
sprinkles water on sands of time.
Winter knows it, so do birds, when glee is accosted by cold
shades of shiver.
They migrate, yes they migrate
to distant lands, where the sea's horizons
bring a gather of warmer hope.
Flicker of surprise, yes.
Winter has arrived with drums of heartbeat missing.
The cold this year, is earlier, you say.
Yes. Birds have disappeared.
Next summer I will see them in hues
as the mad crow will lick dust bins
to glean last vestiges of our left over food.
