I am close, too close I know
when the tree swallow
divebombs me –
Stay away! Stay away!
The click, click, click
replaces his usual
song. This is how
walking goes during the
season of nests.
You created a monster
he told his wife. I
am a woman undone
by feathers and
flying things. Is it truly
yellow, or has the haze
from the heat mislaid
my sense of color
yet again? Well, when
three of us agree I
can relax regarding color.
Perhaps. It is always
perhaps.
The goldfinch sits with
surveillance in his eyes.
Perhaps a tiny morsel
from echinacea in
late September skies
will figure in a meal.
I let the seed heads
waft until spring.
They reward me with
passerines.
The elderberry bush
leans into the path.
I reel it back and
proceed to other wonders.
When did the purslane
take over?
I hear the meow
before I see him-
elegant catbird
winging towards
the dawn. This
is the time for me.
It is cool and noisy
with birdsong,
drowning out distractions
which litter my mind.
Anne's mediocre poetry 