A red cardinal perches on the evergreen in my backyard,
His arrowheard sharp and alert, pointing northward,
His glassy black eyes are set in still contemplation.
Or, is his whole hollow body set in still andumbration?
What are the plans that have him wrapped in such thought?
Or are they fantasies, whichever, for both will get him caught
Insides the small, round oculus of binoculars from afar,
Stared into by an admirer like an astronomer and a star.
But it will only be for an instant before the cardinal is off in flight,
Heading towards an unseen destination into the winter night.
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