Wings and feet and beaks
A little twilly sip
These tiny birds fill up this tree
All leafy and invisible
But their hellos cannot deny
Their ordinary impulse to fly
Watching the flowers reflect the same light
That leads to the sight of birdy delight
Feeders regulars enable a bunch
To stay in this backyard for brunch
And here I sit looking up to the sky
Swallows sweeping across and by
Prepositions cannot do justice to these
Inheritors of more language than bees
Three dimensions or four or five
Legs touch not earth, the trees survive
A flat patch of earth, a chair in which I sit
Cross-ways our paths, flit and flit
If I groan or squeak, I’ll be right here
As it is I find some bread and jam, chewing without fear
Roman Ryan 