We plan like architects to bring the outdoors
in, parrot like realtors the charms of a tree house,
for up on this hill, birdsong is tangible.
We always get what we want,
camouflaged in our mossy cabin,
high above the threshold of discovery.
Open sky, 360-degree view, proximity to water, reliable
food sources and plenty of nesting material.
Gravel flies from under the foot of a rabbit
fleeing a resident eagle. Ravens and stellar jays
battle over kibble, shit bomb the deck.
They want in, past the windowpanes
that trick them. Frenzied, talons flashing,
they fly through a door in the firmament.
I guide them outside, stunned at the feel
of wing bones, banging hearts. A hummingbird
goes stillborn in the cup of my hands,
then buzzers off in the open air, leaving a tang
in my throat, a ring of ruby dust
on my finger, incriminating as pollen.
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