Day 25, Winter Feeder Birds, a list poem

Day 25, Winter Feeder Birds, a list poem

They enchant in the woods,

in the fields, by the creek,

in the tall poplar with its shallow roots,

the scruffy shrubs with their dense tangle,

siskins in the spruce, chickadees in the elm.

Their songs and calls

persistent, personable,

weave around and through,

alone, harmonic;

shrill, dreamy, trills, whistles,

I hear them, I hear them all,

acapella cacophony —

the song in my head, my song

reduced to a dull human drone.

                                   

They flock to my offering,

a cedar box suspended

with energy overflowing

in flax, sunflower, millet seeds,

peanuts, corn, suet cakes;

architects of the forest,

how they must marvel

at the seance I perform

wooden body of bottomless food,

floating in midair.

Under the feeder, the ground is crawling

with finch, cowbird, wren and jay,

flicker, dove, sparrow, bunting,

magic forest gems of plume and beak and bone.

Spell-bound, I cannot look away

even to put my morning coffee on.

The puppy, let loose, barks at shadows cast by beating wings,

the sudden uprush of so many fleeing things

threatens to carry her away.

Perched nearby, watching like me,

the sharp-shinned, red-tailed, rough-legged threat,

more often felt than seen in the shadows,

and then the beating wings, the sudden downrush grab

of startled feeding things, carried away.