the last animal [quincunx]

we are
lonely,
never thinking
about the species of beetle
that buries birds
and other small
animals, this is
their sole duty

we are
grieving.
there is a whale
in the great ocean
that speaks
at higher frequencies,
his cries falling silent
on the ears
of his brothers.
he swims
erratic lines
across the waters.

are we alone
in the universe?
is not the question.
some chemistry
is directing
the structure
and frequency
of our language.
we are not in communion,
each night in our individual plots
we are asking
why are
we so alone
on a full and blooming earth?

afterthought

fat, dead pigeon in the dirt,
your head is nestling
into your clean body,
its purple-grey feathers tufting up
in the warm pre-evening wind;
you have never looked
so innocent.

dead bird,
(still, a whole bird
after all),
do you know the sorrow
we are coming to?

backyard

afternoon early spring;

different birds sing different songs

and a kitten chases a bumble bee

around in the new green grass

church bells strike the half hour;

there is relative quiet

there is nature in the suburbs

the sun shines, sky blue

even as planes dip through

& i am peaceful;
just thinking
this kitten
chasing bees
in the grass

....

(and ah i make you 

every day

ah you make and unmake 

my very face,

but who would believe us

even if we open all the windows

all the windows of the house)