Dandelions by Amy Roskilly
safe to say
young starlings give the vultures a hard time.
i wonder why the bigger birds dont knock the
small ones senseless- not that i prefer violence
but ive come to expect it.
everything is so draped and viny. a butterfly i never
saw in such a hurry. goldfinches in a contest take to
high branches. coupla redstarts in a buckeye,
playing with fire. i hear the mighty drumroll of a pecker.
then her jester call. find her—so serious, climbing the
green lichen tree, its trunk already wasted, her black
cap like a habit drops a shit into the pond
deep enough a month ago cows stood to their shoulders
in it, now a fallen sapling spans its width, its leaves
barely steeping. she fairly squacks, one redhead
to another, until i lose her and come up with a
beautiful kingbird, high on grapevines.
several small luna moths kiss this, then that dandelion
taking their time by the fence black raspberries cluster
fist open, i wld eat them but id cross with ivy. i hear the
chiming of waxwings, find them in a pear tree.
Thursdays rain leaves of burdock hold for fawns
to sip. i suppose one cld survive here.
~ bree zlee