I don’t mind one crow,
on a rail or curb,
by its lonesome.
Nor am I troubled by
a large number of the birds.
(The group designation “murder,”
notwithstanding.)
But where two or three
are gathered, facing
each other…
That’s when I get the
heebie-jeebies.
swamphens strut
at water’s edge, and
i’m a farmboy again.
I take a sunrise photo
And find the glorious orb
Diminished by poor photography,
& upstaged by a flaring pigeon.
snake wrestles fish
onto rocky home turf, &
blends with sun-warmed stones.
grass-rattle, plop!
grass-rattle, plop! -- repeats...
at last, I see a frog.
a squirrel chitters;
its black body against
the ash gray tree.
saffron-colored carp
mill about the garden pond.
a cat watches...
when I was a child,
roosters aggressively charged;
now: they flee, clucking.
