Winter Birds

winter birds
peck the taut skin of a trash bag
until half digested food spills from its belly
these scavengers do not migrate
like privileged pensioners
they drill on icy eaves
with the mettle of miners
into the sonorous veins of trees
the blanched sky
streaked with fissures and dusted with clouds
mirrors a frozen lake
the silhouettes of serrated wings
strike and glide
strike and glide
across the ice
skating toward the horizon