Goldfinches by Danusha Laméris

Good luck, they say,
to see one,
its face and breast
pure citrus
against the grey sky.

And today,
I am twice blessed
because two such birds
grace the low boughs
of the persimmon,
eating the soft heart
of winter's fruit—

though they will also
feast on thistles 
pulled from the dry flowers 
and so are said
to eat the thorns 
of Christ's crown, 
to lift some small measure 
of his suffering.

Whatever your grief,
however long you've carried it—
may something
come to you,
quick and unexpected,
whisk away
the bristled edge 
in its sharp
and tender beak.