Cool northern air
Lifts stale heat off my skin
And hovers, a welcome presence,
In the room’s quiet

A solitary cry in yellowed branches
Unlike summer songbirds
Which buffet the morning
With ceaseless chatter and romance

It is autumn’s mourning
Clear, distinct,
Pending, pensive,
Purposeful, strong

Your lush, singular voice
Flows with berries and seeds
Sufficient for the long cold winter