To Waken an Old Lady

Old age is

a flight of small

cheeping birds

skimming

bare trees

above a snow glaze.

Gaining and failing

they are buffeted

by a dark wind—

But what?

On harsh weedstalks

the flock has rested—

the snow

is covered with broken

seed husks

and the wind tempered

with a shrill

piping of plenty.