When the house seems to breathe
on its own, and I stare out the window
without purpose, in love with loneliness,
all of my moments—past, present
and future—merge into one. And I see
among hummingbirds, moths and bees
tonight’s breaking news: a pair
of goldfinches, each of which balances
on the bobbing head of a zinnia,
pecking at petals to get to the center
of the flower, where they must sense
some sweetness waits just for them.
—James Crews
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