Lisa Olstein
We're always on the lookout for signs, hidden messages
in things--the curve of a pear, how long it takes to rot.
Once the flowers we bought from a curbside vendor
browned and fell in a day; once they lasted.
The first were daisies. The second were daisies.
Now this, four birds strewn so obviously
across the path of morning--one at the pantry window,
another by the door, two flying straight up, it seems, to the sky.
The neighbors have strung up their candy colored lights.
In the field, horses are sleeping.
