between admiring
and resentful?
There are sparrows
congregated
naked in the still-dead bushes,
and the sound
of their chirping has
unfastened me a little:
how recklessly
happy—how delirious
they sound,
and how foreign
to my marrow
to celebrate deficiency
just by subsisting
at the tail-
end of winter,
so cold, and so
conscious, and so violent-
ly hungry.
