The mouse-colored lady cardinal is back,
feathers flecked with washed out red
like a woman who’s forgotten to dye
the gray from her hair. She keeps
pecking at the window above the kitchen sink
where we’ve all stood so many hours
washing dishes, looking out through rising steam
now here she is looking in
or through, at her own reflection
and the deep green reflection
of the hedge that is her real home if only
She would turn around and look
and there it goes again,
Life drops another into your water wrinkled fingers
the way it does, life’s little hobby,
whether we notice or not
Turn around and look
Stop hurrying through everyday
Turn around and look at
Your own true home
Puff Of Smoke Poems 