The north wind is pulling at the eaves

The north wind is pulling at the eaves.

It rattles the plastic and shakes the leaves.

I watched a bird with a tufted head

landing where the ghosts are fed.

It looked through the wall of the hollow tube.

A gray little bird in a frozen cube.

No seeds. No fat. No winter grain.

Just the sound of the wind and the coming rain.

I see the husks in the muddy ground.

They don't make a single sound.

The feeder knocks against the wall.

I’m not ready for the night to fall.