Red Sky in Morning

I am by no stretch of the imagination a morning person. Never have been, and, I'm afraid, never will. But, I do love the old sailor's adage: "Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in morning, sailors take warning." I have always loved that, from the time I was old enough to be out in a rickety old faded lime green rowboat at dusk. And, you know, I even loved, well, really liked, a sailor once. So here's to sailors and little green rowboats. And, hey, here's to morning.

Red Sky in Morning

Perched on the bare branch of longing
the cardinal listens through a window in shadow.
Fallen leaves descend into earth
mulch into paperweights of regret
fallen
fallen
fallen
like some English fancy woman
slipping from her petticoats
for a Valentine of peace.

When the red bird flies round
to the back porch of celebrity
no one recognizes him
except the woman from abroad.
Her palm opens
offering a fistful
of shining ruby marbles,
gleaming beads of jubilation.
The cardinal takes them then,
each into his beak and he is
falling
falling
falling
from the weight of her satisfaction.