Wonder

Now it pays irregular visits  . . .
I lift my head and suddenly
the trees are mysteries
in the half-light.
The corner bush
(crushed against stained siding
and mangled into geometric form)
becomes unbearably tender,
its evergreen fingers holding
a down of snowflakes
unbroken, unmelted.
 . . . the dusk has eaten almost all color,
but not the red slash of cardinal
foraging under the dormant apple tree.