Two robins weather
bare branches, eye my kitchen
scraps: red breasts, rich blood.
One goose, high up, swings
an arc above the brown grass,
forms the letter A.
Life persists; geese call,
brusque, a bit angry. Their necks
honk "To be! To be!"
Single, run, roll, roost,
the geese nest, bicker, ignore
our noise, bikes, our cars.
A bike looks oblong
from a distance, eccentric,
off-kilter, human.
A skunk knows better
for not thinking, like us, lost,
rooted, digging grubs.
We hear the wood thrush,
her cries, and think we know her
sorrow in our bones.
Imagine now—kite
cry and glide, the sun behind,
the shadow below.