Poem 20150808

the tree so dry and gray
lacking its leaves and
far enough away that i can’t
identify it

not that i have a knack for that

rises up out of equally dry
grass only feet
from a running creek

its roots not long enough
to reach i guess
or not greedy enough
to put so much effort into leaves

a single dove, fat and rough-feathered
sits on one branch
when a second bird
a yellow-chested oriole
arrives

they don’t speak to each other
though the oriole regards me
with tolerant indifference
as i respect its personal space
and commit it to memory with
the aid of binoculars