Nature's Response

 

That black flap

across the lawn,

“Useless,” he says.

I see our morning

blackbird with a worm,

he all rainbow dark,

stabbing yellow beak

and inked eye

fixed for homing.

He’ll be back

for the warble,

to chuckle a long song

where no leaf moves

nor grass blade bends

in the still air, echoing.