“The season of glad songs has come”
(Song of Songs 2: 12)

A company of sparrows has gathered
on the tree of red berries, a surprise
from the swath of grass against the
post office wall, cheering the Poet

idling in line to mail envelopes
of payments due, respite
for another month, sufficient evil
defrayed, a moment granted to smile,

then laugh at the flutter of sparrows
to the tree, then One, Two, Three, GO!—
a shower of nondescript brown blustering
to the sidewalk, all pecking the plenty

of seeds, then whoosh–every small body
back to the tree; look and listen
for the all clear, then quick to the feast
prepared for all, such pecking, a code

to the weary Poet, no hurry now, laughing,
yes, out loud at this song of sparrows
rising and falling and rising . . .
Oh, joy in the whirl.

For Katrina