The Cardinal

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.

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