Conversations with my Tree

November, 2020

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Today briefly I saw a red bird, its breast, the body feathers black.

Slender, a slender bird with a slender beak. Around the corner

 

two men with binoculars stared at a tree.

Not you, this was an ordinary tree on the side-walk.

 

Finally the men moved away. I saw the bird with my naked eye.

I didn’t tell them: wrong tree.

 

I wish birds, even one bird, lived in you, my tree.

No reply. Silence.

 

This tree doesn’t move a finger until she’s sure

which way the wind blows. She’s a political tree

 

her motives thus far unknown,

her assessments undisclosed.

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