hunting in the sharpening air

It is the first snow.
Bright sunlight makes it play red, purple, green--
a shiver sweater on a ladybird.

From his bedroom window
a boy jumps and clutches at her;
hunting in the sharpening air.

She explains she's squirreling away yarn
and sacred caramel hair
and coins
to make herself a brother.

But he only hears a long-lost sound.
A Kirtland Warbler based on her song and call notes,
her black and white wings,
her rounded, yellow breast.

So he coaxes her into a lidded mason jar
with his quiet, seed-filled fingers
and plants her on a shelf.