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.