Watchful Robins

When the robins return.

Watchful Robins

The robins adorn the leafless tree
like copper-chested jewels,
keeping close watch,
waiting for sleepless gestures.

Songs cut through
the chill in the air,
slicing it neatly,
right down the middle,
so that both sides fall onto
the grass, wetting it,
dousing the dead with the cold
which had worked to preserve it,
but will instead, wake it.

This world is in a coma,
but there is the slight movement
of living fingers, and
the quick flutter of the robin’s wings
which hint at a heart that beats softly
below the thawing crust of earth.

It is when the clouds part,
and the light floods in
that the eyes have cracked open,
and the birds take flight.