Multitudes who sleep in the dust of the earth will awake:
some to everlasting life, others to shame and everlasting contempt.
A cardinal is mystified, perched on a stainless-steel dog dish
as it gazes into frozen water—at that fluffy red reflection
miming every move.
By the wooden fence a frozen feathered shape
perches. Wind pounds a fence. Overhead,
Canadian geese lance through gray skies.
Warmer, at 19°as I jog,
wearing a ski mask and surgical mask,
through swirls of snow into upper Bethabara,
its ancient Moravian cemetery checkered
by gravestones protruding from snow.
I pause, panting at one on the furthermost corner.
Brushing snowdust, I see the name eroded, only