If cardinals symbolize visitors from another realm, souls populate 
trees at dusk, linger last at my feeders & fountains, hunger & thirst 
the longest. I saw twelve silhouetted in crape myrtles, crests & beaks 
arrowed against sky, the only birds still out. What does that suggest 
of souls? Or how lonely I must seem that they stayed? I wanted to press 
tongue to tooth to imitate their quick chirps, but my imperfect mouth 
could not manage	stit	tinh	stht 	alveolar flaps, 
just as letters can’t convey wild sounds. 
                                                                                     Spirits must love the liminal hours 
—maybe they can eat & drink again, sing whatever needs to be sung again. 
You nowhere to be seen. Even though I fail to translate, 
please note: what’s left unspoken may haunt, staccato,
tapping into thought an insistent verse, 	a glottal stop.