missing the Grackle, because she’s tearing through the order of the city with prehistoric motive.
water – neither good nor bad, sudden food supply, same.
just leave the ancient Oaks to shade and sway
that little squirrels can play.
where was the bluejay that day, the cardinal?
sullied heat pressing sideways, offering me up a limber way of walking, slow and steady.
some come for this heat, the meat of fortune for both prey and pray.
Crackling under my foot are acorns
tossed gravel from driveways
defiant to the sprawl.