Inertia
for once, too cold to eat: two
charcoal lumps of finch rest
on the feeder, drawn into
themselves, neither pecking
nor littering, eyes thinned to slits,
huddling in the weak rays
of a sun that can’t transmit
enough heat to soften. back
and forth they swing while
a squirrel in the background leaps
from frozen limb to frozen
limb, tail illuminated, lit up
and flailing in air so sharp
it could be glass about to shatter.