The girl steps down from decorating

a tree. Her hair strewn with tinsel and Juniper

as it floods the eye with the light

of the Winter sun. Wind moves through

the aired room echoing the raucous

carol of crows; and the shy psalm

of another.

She smiles and summons that bird

which had been resting on the window sill

cradled in ivy. The mourning dove lands in her palm;

and she offers me his shadow.