Branched like an artery,
the dying oak leafs out
with February robins.
This is their layover month,
down to the Keys and back.
A man with a .45 and a measured eye
could pick them off one by one,
or sketch them — but why bother?
Imagination is enough,
like that bed you might
have shared with someone else.
They're chaste, chasing each other —
one wing in the future, one in the past.
The New Criterion