a woodpecker I know by sound strobes from tree to tree black white black white red head — I move it disappears nearby a hollow cone augers into a mossy pine — gray bark torn down to wine red down to carroty orange to ivory splinters the cone’s tip is a tenebrous hole fringed by velvety shreds at the tree's core a murky depth not heartwood as if the pine trunk held not inner but outer space a macrocosm pileated woodpecker hammers its way to