The Cardinal

by Henry Carlile


Not to conform to any other color

is the secret of being colorful.


He shocks us when he flies

like a red verb over the snow.


He sifts through the blue evenings

to his roost.


He is turning purple.

Soon he'll be black.


In the bar's dark I think of him.

There are no cardinals here.


Only a woman in a red dress.


"The Cardinal" from Running Lights by Henry Carlile. Copyright �© 1981 by Henry Carlile. Reprinted with the permission of Dragon Gate, Inc.

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