A cardinal and wren
twirl together among the branches
of an alder;
weeping pieces of winter
from branches bent and low
and burdened beneath boughs
encased in ice.
The winter, a sublime bully,
pushed itself onto the spindly limbs,
forced its body purposefully;
and here the ambivalent birds,
scrounging for seed,
know nothing of this, only
the glassy drops that twinkle
beneath the burnished sun.
It’s almost over; the crackling
earth weeps with joy;
the cardinal and wren see a patch
of that spongy earth gasping for breath
between cracks in the snow.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem