On An Overcast Day

This bird’s whistle
long and sliding
on a string of air,
calls me to listen.

The sound delights but the caroler
hides in a hedge
clustered with berries.

White-throated sparrow
or finch, he has left
the hand of Saint Francis
to come here --his shadow                                                                                                                      

cast on my ribs, gates
to a silent choir
that has lost
its power to sing.