sip water from melting ice
and I see their red breasted life
in this gray-mist twilight
just after we buried a brother.
with the priest, “our daily bread”
while birds found clear elixir.
Now I pour a scotch and drink
liquid coals to remind myself
This is all I can imagine
and the pine tree’s fronds
and bobbing feathery doubles
reflected outside the glass.
C. Denise Low. Published 17 Dec. 2006 in the Kansas City Star (F10)