for N.M.

I saw a cardinal and thought of you,
how we sat on your back porch last summer,
after your tumor was removed,
and watched the birds at the feeder.
There were deer too, crashing through
the woods into your backyard—wild runners!
But the way that red bird flew
from the emerald trees—bright, bold, and eager—
painting a brilliant crimson streak
across the gray worry of illness.
What, if anything, could I have said?
I trusted it was enough to keep
that blessèd quiet with stillness.