Here is all I thought lost

from the scurrying groundhog

to blue jays and swallows –

ah, the buzz of red-throated hummingbird – 

I cannot not listen –

more celebration where the acorn drops,

and one squirrel halts the war machine,

quells the revolution,

with a flashback to cerulean childhood,

a time of high puffy clouds

like meringue on a blue pie,

while I whittle wood

to the bluster of wind

up in the oaks and elms –

no continuous current 

of get to work on time,

catch that plane,

honor some bigwig with my presence –

here is the encyclopedia of delight,

eye and wing

as one nectar to another,

downy woodpecker tapping Morse code on a tree trunk,

a patch of grass and wildflowers

speaking in earth’s language,

shaming my workload

with all that ants have to do,

replacing my voice 

with lambent thrush and oriole,

and a sun as much greeting as it is shine –

I could grow young here,

scratching my name on bark

or in the kitchen smelling lemons,

building a bridge over the crowded city streets

from my house to the nearest forest

with bedroom, pine, parlor, deer –

who knows,

the rabbits might even 

mistake me for a flower –

look through my window now:

day lily, trillium, 

whatever the smoke can’t kill.

nature playing out

in one endless reel,

life forgoing the harsh tongue

for the single shared sky,

scrolling scenery,

nesting or feeding,

in conduit limbs –

within this moat of traffic and pedestrians,

suspending one reality

for its more engaging counterpart – 

islanded,

translating the voices of birds

into my-speak.

admiring the dresses of trees,

lush green on a rough gray body-

surely it’s a mirage,

but I blink and it’s still there –

I blink again

and I’m still here.