dusky junco,
winged dumpling,
ground and seed bound,
you move in smooth gusts
— a leaf through the winter
graveyard of dried grass
and broken flower pots.

mallard duck and drake, bird boats
of remarkable rudder-age,
two canoes canoodling,
you capsize to find
muck-sustenance.

rain spied robin,
you are a fubsy dollop,
but quick,
a brig ht-eyed worm dragon,
a rosy tree turnip.
“chee-rup”

play, lady mourning dove,
play for me
your lonesome
harmonica
when where
has your
morning
star
gone.

house finch,
you watch
and from your rose petal throat
you cast pearls
of songbird knowing.
come now,
dawn maiden,
my mate
and brown bearer of generations,
the avian road
from spruce
to feeder
is yours.

Jennifer Dennehy lives in Colorado with her family, 2 cats, 2 hens, neighborhood foxes, songbirds, and a mischief of magpies. She spends a fair bit of time longing for starlight and rooting for migratory birds. Jennifer has had poems published in the Cold Mountain Review.