a great blue heron
leans as if dismayed
at twenty Canada geese
heads tucked sleeping
on fugitive islands
the pond half dry
a kingfisher swings
out & up from a limb
to shimmy in place
above the scum, dives
at whatever moves
fish or rock or mirage
halfway down, mid
midair, the thwarted
hunter arcs back
into harboring trees
falling leaves bent
on outing every lodger
if only the birds had subtitles
the moose whose heap of scat
spans the trail a Go-Pro, the porcupine
whose droppings carpet the crest
inside the anticline a Roomba
so I could clean-crawl all the way
to tunnel’s end, swivel to peer through
middles of beech & elm, maple & oak
black cherry, their wornout leaves
swinging from spent stems, squirrels
& chipmunks caching, slanting sun
glazing scarred rock, if only the wind
would hold still, the air congeal
around October days until December
tree trunks
grown together
the one draped
diagonally
across the other
like a loaded
bandolier, gnarled
bolls, peckered
holes, barks
peeled to pith
not a limb
or a crown
between them
stout souls
they stand
until some wind
some flood, some
cataclysm
dares to throw
them over
1. walk out of Costco with a full cart
2. no raincoat
3. drive home from Burlington
4. do a mental-walk through the house
5. to find the open window
6. be happy your car is getting washed
7. wish you’d mulched all the gardens
8. wonder where squirrels shelter
9. what frogs are doing
10. think about leaves falling
11. before they have a chance to turn
12. wonder when you’ll get a break
13. to unload the car
14. pretend you’re a plant getting sloshed
