For the Birds

Audobon saw things here, which I haven't seen
until now.
The drastic absence of life
the darting images of snowbirds
to wake my slumber.
Today, hundreds and hundreds of birds -
a jet stream of flyers,
not as many as once were,
still plenty.

There is a white pigeon in the bradford pear,
the lone flowering bud in desolation and trash.
I sought to photograph it,
highlighted against the dark branches and empty gray.
It flew away,
into a higher roost,
with the other birds.

The cardinals and finches.
The exposed beauties.
So cold. So bare.
What keeps them here?