Rough birds
fit this field,
starlings and crows,
their blue-black wings
against the sheen
of the week-old snow
and the metallic
stubble of corn.
The sun behind
a squirrel’s nest,
an eclipse
unnoticed in the rest
of the world,
sends no one
into panic, an omen
of nothing to come.
Observe one gray
displace another.
This day in history
a mouse was caught
in a drainage ditch,
you hurt your arm,
at night the stars
came out.