Fourteen Lines About Birds

Simple, some days: I tip a cup of seeds into the feeder, & they come.

The tree shaken free of its hidden starlings.

The juncos back with a flash of white over the brown, leaf-scattered lawn.

The wren with a beak as long as its song.

The theory that birds wintered on the moon.

How leaves lift with the wind, & birds against.

The sparrow in the barren bush—it only knows two notes, but it will use them.

The theory that the calls of chickadees have grammar.

The wingspan of a pileated woodpecker—Oh my god, I whisper. 

As if to it.

Underside like a shadow against the sky.

Some days, I can name nothing but movement.

The beat of wings beside me, turned too late—whatever had come close had gone.

Whatever had come close, come back.