To Sing and Sing Again

The sky is feathered with pewter

like the tail-wings of the bluejay

at the feeder. His magnificent scream

pierces the quiet of morning.

Praise his siren song, beckoning

a swirl of blue to the feeder: Come

and be fed. Soon wrens bob and peck

around the jays in harmony.

Praise be the squirrel who bosses

this feeder—sly chameleon

vanishing into the bare maple

limbs, reappearing in time

to battle a half-dozen crows,

those robed magistrates

of greed. Praise their black

surging and sassing on takeoff.

Praise the red-footed mourning

dove partners who bring

their young in at dusk, accept

the remains discarded by others.

Praise their meager ways,

the sad flutter of their leaving.

Praise the watchful redbird

who feeds first, alone, then

the females who feed together.

Praise mother and child I find

on the porch, a festival of red

feathers announcing a cat’s

hidden perch. Praise the shovel

I use to lift them up. Praise their

rotting bodies nourishing the

woodsy earth, the pines full of nests.