Forest of Flickers
So bright. So spangled. So garish, capped red.
Glancing up, they seem to be spectacled.
Brash and all blowing feathers, they hunt
Bang bang bang go their beautiful faces.
Beauty fades. Vanishes. Escapes. Abandons.
The reflection I see as I peer through the window feels pale as a coming of winter.
Hours pass. They’re still comfortably camped, fat and happy.
The lawn is alight with red heads, and they’re not going anywhere.