orb it

and the red ball rests

in its fine crimson robe

from its flame red dance

on a wind-swayed branch

on a seat of maple

it’s an unstable ride

and a starglobe lights the scene

and the red ball serene

there’s a man enclosed in glass

awed yet he cannot speak

from the red ball’s beak

a song trilled sweetly

there are just three words:

‘hail to Sol’ (and seeds and heat)

and the brown bark bleeds

on its white rime coat

while juncos drum the ground

and the four does watch

(flicking white tails to the beat)

the breathswelled breast swatch

as the red ball rests