Muskrat Morning  

morning started out right,
with a muskrat. swam the 
pond emphatic, and full of 
beans, id say.  

a lone mallard i surprise lifts 
a foot real slow, he sets it down, 
all ginger, plays some kind of 
craps and i dont move an inch 
in the knee-high yellow salsify.  

guess i do i need to get away from 
the house to see song sparrows. too 
bad the frilly white fronds of black 
locust remind me of you. perfume 
strong enough to bring joy hurts 
to exhale.   

sure did not expect to see this lone
rose breasted grosbeak. its chest 
gleams red to make the better 
part of a heart. this one’s drips down 
after making its point, as if by accident. 
his pale beak  colored like clay 
looks not of the world you made for us.   

under the flowy arms of this buckeye 
a profoundly disgusting leech hangs 
on to the bark. if it isnt buckeye, 
it isnt growing along the 
creek rushing with last nights rain.  

wood ducks swim by the might 
of their necks thrusting. peckers hump 
their way up along the hardwood trunks. 
i make it okay to the field of actual 
bluegrass, where three massive, twisty 
gnarled oaks stand the passage of time, 
locked into an understanding.   

three flickers flash-land in an expired ash.
one spreads his yellow tail in a fan quick,
and then closes it. seems elicit. anothers
slightly open red crown in a black ring
gleams a little, like it was wet from a small kiss.
and they take to a sky that is
colorless as your language.