I saw a sparrow flutter
between stark and twisted limbs
of the oak I so admire
resonating silent hymns.

I listen to the silence;
lean weary back to rigid bark.
I sense its mighty presence
and all the while I wonder
if my absence has been noticed.

Meanwhile snow begins to fall
to add substance to the space.

In the frosted air it flies
like an angle, unaware
of my enduring stare.
It does not care.

How can it not care?

I watch it for a while
transfixed by its subtle spell
seduced by speculation
until the bird bids farewell.

Meanwhile a breeze demands obedience
and branches sway unbothered.

What a delight to see
such a lovely, little creature
in such an innate form.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful
if we could live like sparrows for a day?
Think and breathe and fly and exist
like sparrows for just a day.

I'm tempted to laugh
on its trifling behalf.
Petit and bustling
perhaps in need by other eyes.

Meanwhile the sun sinks and darkness follows
like a heavy eyelid closing a troubled mind.

I don’t think I’ll ever know
how it can be nothing more…
just a sparrow
and nothing more…
may I be… nothing more?