two eagles sat in the tree looking in the house
she knew they were blessed

salty hands. there’s been ghosts
up here all night
making rackets

salty lips. moving papers

striped chipmunk not afraid
of me his brown black & white coat
& shining eyes a silver miracle
like the frosted grass. stuffing maple seeds
into his cheeks. he is the start
of maple tree. he is the spread & seed
pine that dropped a sap shell
cone in the street I picked up as I ran
by & carried to the forest

blue woodpeckers came to eat the
maple bugs & listen to
me strum in the green grass bloom
smelling of transforming perfume
shadow wet secret. grass blade
bugs I used to fixate on for endless time
as a child making me
lose myself again.
the exactness of afternoon shadows
in indian summer
birds & bugs come back & leaf breeze
throaty huff smoothed by wind
moving the wind chimes I realize
the chipmunk lives behind the porch
jumps out at me with eyes
glinting slow fog

“i dream of the dead,
kind, brilliant, comforting.
the lost return to us
when we are lost.” –carolyn kizer