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