A Red Bird

A red bird, motionless A cardinal rare to my city eyes And almost indistinguishable From it’s neighboring autumn leaves Crimson and rusty, Feathered with impatience For winter. A red bird Silently invisible Aside from a telling Twitch, or a quiver, or the flexing of wings The blink of an empty eye. A red bird Enviable and unenviable And all to itself as it Considers not a thing Except whether to take flight Or stay perfectly still.