The bird, a robin I believe, was
on the yet bare branch of the maple
facing east, backside to me.
It could have been the Buddha
sitting there in the cold air,
looking into that cold light of dawn
and frost on the ground. It was
not joined by any other bird
and I had the sense it did not feel
alone or needed company – content
in the not yet budding maple
looking east waiting, expecting
nothing receiving all that’s needed.