The cardinal that flew into the window
has left behind bright feathers for someone
else’s nest. I say it would be a shame
to ever feel too old to bend & pick

the prettiest, to lift it high, to watch it
flutter then release it & let the breeze
decide where it should settle. I say, also,
come join me in the yard. I know it’s early,

but the sun already has melted away the frost.
Now birds of all kinds flock to the suet. Here,
looking out beyond the holly as it slips free
of morning shadows & looking past the sprawling

rhododendron, its damp leaves uncurling,
there’s always the chance a cardinal will rise.