New Light

From 93 million miles
Above, a little light
Touches a newly
Hatched dove, gently
Across that huge divide,
Greets an autoelic spark
Inside life --I believe
That is love. 

We Are

We are born into
Unknown works,
Forms of things to be,
Grown in futurity--
What will be done--
Souls circling a
Yellow sun, a 
Living star. I rather
Like what we are.
 

Mockingbird

He showed up on a 
Sunday (I remember my
Portuguese, Sunday=Domingo)
And began to sing.
He sings of doves in lower 
Terraces and bushtits in hedges.
He sings of hawks in high
Distance and a lazy cat --he makes
All their sounds, announcing to all
Birds this is a good garden to nest in.
He is a virtuoso --his opera includes
Survival-- and the birds come.
There is nothing medicinal in
His art of reciting himself
But he helps other birds decide,
And he makes me feel good.
I call him Placebo Domingo.
"Bravo", I tell him. "Bravo!"

Norma's Scarecrow

Because of bunnies
And squirrels, she
Built a scarecrow
Today and draped
It purple in wind
To send out royal
Edicts snagging sticks.
They flutter, they defend!

Then Wings

We come from piscine
Astronauts with a desire
To explore atmospheres
More rarified --equate
Progress with higher
And higher flight.
There are times though,
Admittedly, when
I miss my flippers.

Squirrel, Stealing?

She sent a photo from the
Fenceline, captioned,
"Squirrel stealing almonds."
A leap to judgement.
I know this squirrel.
60 years ago my brother
Told me a story about 
A squirrel named Benny.
I fell asleep, but ever after,
I called all squirrels that.
Benny's mother lives in our
Woody End and eats plums.
Benny needs protein.
Almonds are expensive in
Stores but free on our tree.
He has no money and
That's all right with me.
 

The Dove Itself

Third space up the staff,
A single note, word or chord
That is life --a dove recites itself,
All it need say-- and peace
Sounds to me like a panpipe
C, but there's something more,
Something added to the score
That is the dove itself.