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      WEATHER 
  
      BIRDS ON THE PATIO FEEDERS, NO. 1 
      A big wind blows the bird feeders from side to side 
           and thunder mutters to itself but the day  
is as bright as Mensa. 
  
Bare branches resembling veins and arteries 
           look skeletal as the bony, unfleshed medical figure 
                      who dances only when someone jerks his puppet strings. 
  
That big wind scours the sky as if the sky is a giant kitchen sink. 
           Trees bend, hanging their heads, sorrowful. 
                      Such drama. Yet we are captivated to see 
  
robins, thrushes—early birds not dissuaded  
           by the big blow, the rumble of thunder, the Danse 
                      Macabre. 
  
They fly with the flow, so light are they, skidding 
           among a thousand currents of air, tipping 
                      this way or that, free from gravity 
  
perhaps, or only delicately tied 
           to grand invisible waves of connection— 
                      or affection, given their shared routes. 
  
The pathways birds—and butterflies—establish 
           could carry us thousands of miles away and 
                      afar were we able to follow them 
  
and some have done so, lugging cameras 
           and high-priced computers and taking notes. 
                      Or one may simply watch the birds feeding 
  
at the feeders on one’s patio, cardinals 
           dignified and sometimes even officious, 
                      the finch with his rosy underside, juncos 
  
chasing one another off the little  
           red schoolhouse that holds birdseed, or the hanging 
                      cylinder that swings every which way in wind. 
 
 
 
      THE NORTH STAR 
      Did wise men follow the Star of Bethlehem 
to the newborn babe? It’s possible, I guess,  
but I am more attracted to the notable North Star: 
its unchanging beauty, a star frozen 
in the sky except that it is not frozen, is 
a fury of fire signaling to us 
from 323 lightyears away, saying  
hello, saying hi there! It tells us  
we are not alone. 
           Of course it’s hard to converse 
with a star but our excellent telescopes help and  
astronomers have taken careful note  
of its age and size and other such calculations  
and they all agree that it is indeed  
a beautiful star born to succeed. 
 
 
 
      THE NORTH POLE 
      No, it’s not as cold as the South Pole 
but it is certainly cold enough. 
Any direction you turn in from the Pole 
is south, but getting there used to be tough. 
Nowadays you may fly to the Pole 
or over it. The cold may make you cough. 
With a parachute, you can land on the Pole. 
You’ll want to add to your equipment a muff 
and stuff, considering that the North Pole 
is ageing, its sea ice something like the fluff 
of our small dog’s coat and certainly cold enough. 
  
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