Bares me this
Message — raveled hope of mail, re-routed
To our suburban forest. One scrawny pine bough
Flickered over sun-patch on the soon–to-slumber earth.
Next day dawned unseasonal — global warmth
Takes diverse narratives. I’ve forgotten the exact
Definition of String but I heard
A low whistle, quick rustle
Through the four-five curled leaves
(Remains of last month’s finery) seismic plunge
Prized tanager, red dash
From branch to grass
Singing me my portion, this day’s bliss.
Or just my damned tinnitus.