I pour the seeds in, offer them up,
voyeur of hunger satisfied, student
of wing-beat rhythms, bird talk.

Landings, departures make the feeder
swing. The chattering sparrow
nuthatch vertical by choice, red-bellied
woodpecker, a quibble of titmice
The big ones—the jay, Cardinalis
cardinalis (startling red), black
glistening grackle—dominate littles
who perch nearby to wait. It unfolds
like a vaudeville show. All
play their parts.

Mine, to run a soup kitchen
for airborne pilgrims, to feed,
watch, listen. It's in my nature,
a kind of joy.