Behind the Neighbor's House, The Pines...

maybe today i missed the copper

creep down the pine tree but i did

see, briefly, a small song

bird perched on the edge 

of the filled metal bath and

from this point of view 

there were two and one was

him and one was his muted   

self if there were any wind 

it would've lifted his water-

soul some and become, 

with the waning

Luna moon above him, a some-

thing that all such doubles are: set

and in motion, dumb and still

filled of song, full and coming to

complete vanity of such mornings:

in the ripe rising of day

and behind that staunch 

white pine fellow a rough trunk

and soon to succumb and come

undone from, branch, and all 

those needles and all that oozing

oozing oozing from summer's

plethora green, each and every

cone being revealed by the uncovering 

the rising from behind the mountain

that this little bird's back has, briefly,

become.