Bugs unlike birds
do not flee my
innocent
port and shutter
Bugs unlike birds
do not flee my
innocent
port and shutter
Trees are chopping down the forest,
and fish are killing the seas
The slate-colored junco,
the pine siskin,
the dipper, the catbird,
the chukar and starling,
and you and me and our many
winglit warbly ways.
We need no camera obscura
to put us
proportionate on the line.
We’re changing shapes whatever we do.
We body out the ghost till we’re sucked on through.
And blossoms write
your name on copper blue.
It’s delicate, a difficult
thing to do –
turning petals to letters before they alight.