The Feeder, 1

For Michael Collier

1.

Bright blossom on the shrub's green lapel—

within hours after we hang the feeder

beside the wild viburnum, a goldfinch lights there.

And then, next day, a rose-breasted grosbeak

posing for us, making us proud as though

we'd painted ourselves, on the puffed white chest,

its bloody bib: our first failing.

                                                Our second:

disappointment with the chickadees

common and localdespite the sleek black cap,

clean white cheeks, acrobatic body.

But weren't the early gifts a promise?

We've hung fat meat from a nearby branch, wanting

large, crested, rare, rapturous,

redbird fixed on the bush like a ripe fruit.