Across the gray sky
snow blowing beneath
brown winged dot
sweeping past
aligned with power lines like
a bare musical note
repeated.
Why in 11 degrees
why in the worst storm of the decade
why?
I stare out of my kitchen window
at the gray snowscape
cocoa in hand, warm for the moment
satisfied with being indoors
for today
until the snow stops
tomorrow.
Why, lone bird,
do you populate the empty sky
on such a day
purposely flying, of all things, south to north
What could possibly be
that important?