the coffee
sent a cloud of steam
to moisturize
my exhausted face
as i watched
the cardinal hop
excitedly from
branch to branch

a streak of red
singing loudly so his
nest remained hidden
black eyes glaring
in contrast to the
happy sounding song

i searched for
the brown matron
in the bare limbs
of the trees
camouflaged from predators
and lonesome fools
in a cloud of condensation
wobbly standing
after a sleepless night

i took the crimson dart
as a sign
of what
i couldnt rightly say
not one for portents
when it always feels
as if the world is
on the brink of ending
just happy to see
a familiar face
among the sparrows
and the inquisitive crows