Sparrows

Sparrows Morning after first snow—
outside my kitchen window,
gray sparrows flap up
and down on a sagging clothesline.
It is a corn dance
in honor of sunshine on snow.

What joy in a sparrow’s body
as he jumps and eats—
a world of red barns,
snow, old clotheslines
and corn kernels is enough.
No brooding on hunger and death,
no suspicion among the sparrows.

I return from seeing a woman,
full of joy and dancing in my body—
lie awake all night
putting away old dreams like a man
packing for a long trip.

Now it is clear: her face
come to me, and I sink
into sleep like childhood,
rising hours later to bright sun,
sparrows dancing on the clothesline.

In a world of grief, no one
has any right to such gifts
as I am given; I take them,
put on my feathers, and go
dance in the snow.

By, Bill Holm

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