The night . . . the rain . . . the darkness . . .
|Sweet with scents of nut and grain,
The feeder calls the birds and tells them of riches.
They flock, huddling together, unknowing,
Ignorant of their shabby look, like homeless humans,
Wet and sad, standing in the cold, dark rain.
They turn their heads, eyes alert, to watch
For cats and other terrors known and unknown.
The cats, hidden from the rain, crouch beneath
An overhang or in the shelter of derelict cars,
Cars long abandoned, rusting there.
Cats with flame-filled eyes of glass,
Stare into the rain and clean themselves
With washcloth tongues as they wait
For the sun to dry the backyard
Hunting ground and the food they hunt.
Above, the sky sheds useless tears
In unspoken remorse as the droplets
Fall, relentless in the winter darkness.