by Robert E. Petras
As though panned and sifted
from the sky
two gold finches appeared
at my bird feeder,
a male in bright courting plumage,
a female in drab coyness.
As they flitted and flirted
around the mesh basket
of black sunflower seeds,
I knew I had played matchmaker.
They skittered off beyond pine
boughs, flew into the velvet
blue of my memory, landing
years ago in a kiosk at a park
where two young lovers of ice cream
met.
I have often wondered:
was our meeting by random chance
or by grand design?
As I hand-fed more seed
into the feeder,
I knew the answer.
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