Dogs pull up
short at the sheer cliff
face of the edged lawn.
The nest this
hatchet-headed cardinal
curates tumbles from
the bonsaied rose bush.
Once the robins fledged and flew,
St Kevin stood there
until his hand was cold again.
The bumblebee’s drone
shakes pollen from the pinched
dome of the noontime columbine.
Rain spills from the gutters
and the houses
blink behind their curtains.
The choir resumes
the requiem and the postponed
singers again breathe
with the dying.
Wind blows maple seeds
down the street in light
applause.
