My Backyard Near Dusk
The cautious bend of branch
from frozen rain,
the weight of stars
pushing down:
the dominion
and triumph of time.
The once blue spruce
colorless squirrel condominium
fraught with brown gray birds
with no firm claim on any nest—
enthralled by leaves
on glistening vines.
That could be me or once was:
feet rooted in concrete clay
another pillar in a field of pillars
struggling to hold up the sky:
a skyscraper of good intentions
lost ideals and projects uncompleted
nesting in me and embodied by squirrels
forever play fighting in the waning light.
- 8/22/23
