Even before the
second cup of
coffee,
I had to go out
to where the woodpeckers
were louder than
the sirens
on a morning blazing,
at last,
with a convincing
assurance of season’s
change
Winter still holding back the bud
the blade
while the warmth of the sunshine
beginning to assert that
exquisite delineation
between gray and green
Standing on the edge,
cliff, season, fork in the road
evokes a sense of balance
far beyond the inner ear magic
we take for granted
This morning it was,
simply,
the pulse of life
the dancing with
within
the pounding of mortality
As the prairie,
the trees,
swelled with their irrepressible
responsibility,
canticles of death lay
all over the paths . . .
somber clusters of furry remains,
pellet after pellet
of owl’s plat du nuit
as the woodpecker’s tenacity,
as always,
wins the argument
© by Katrin Talbot.
Used with the author’s permission.
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