brings me to you
on the electric, tightrope wires;
on roofs;
in trees, drilling mango, naseberry mines;
composing, re-composing lines;
twisting leaves, twigs
the mop’s white hair
into a nest for your young
who when you’re gone
I hope, will be too, a surprise of red
on the tightrope wires;
on roofs;
rustling Julie Mango leaves
as I do laundry and think on birds:
how small, yet large they are.