Behind red berries when a snowstorm’s done
a streetlamp glows disguised as a setting sun.
The branch-strung bulbs agleam with festive light
Compressed by wooden posts, a tender bloom
A cat reclines where beams stretch straight or curve,
A robin steals from soil — rich with worms —
Before the foliage falls, its yellows dazzle us.
Despite the loud yellows, a pine has not agreed
In blue and green and yellow’s interaction,
Protruding through a run-down porch’s squalor,
Perfection that we seek is close at hand:
A Buddha statue beside a wound-up hose
Your toes are like a temple’s colonnade,
Mario A. Pita