And Kaw Comes Back for More


Greedy bird
landing on the porch rail
announcing your presence
and your name

Twice today already
I’ve put meatball offerings in your bowl
to elevate the undergirding
puppy chow

Twilight
the gob of cow fat
just bestowed
is not for you

it’s consecrated
to the kit fox god
four-footed spirit
expected after dark

but you dear bird
are a jealous bird
and here you are again
glossy self-entitled thief

spearing the six-inch yellow blob
and gliding off down canyon
for once
mollified and mute
  
first published in The Raven Chronicles (Winter 2012)



Thanks Be


Jane, I’m sorry,
I had to
unbolt the birds’ mouths
from their blue
streak route
through the Audubon wall clock,
a cardinal sin in your house,
I know. And I’ve let
the gesso’d raven
out of the barn,
from the peachy
orange wall you
tethered him to
years ago, below
the insulated
turquoise sky
lacerated with
paint-blob galaxies
seagulls keep
flying through. 
Dear birdbrain,
I left the door open
and they’ve gone,
the swallows
with their tangled wings
from below the front-door glass,
the eagle from the wall mirror,
the parrots from their cage
and the turkey
from the deep freeze.
I’ve gobbled up their space.
But when you return,
when you step out
on your porch
to caw,
they’ll all come back.