The tiny river
-if it is a river-
will soon live
under the sand.
By Friday I think.
Saturday at the latest.
Now I know
where the robins go
for the winter!
To get fat eating
a plenitude
of berries.
Yesterday’s wind
died before dawn.
The red-tails cried
to each other in the oaks
as day barely broke.
Mt Kuchumaa harbors
ephemeral pools.
Where I heard
the lone song of a toad.
The robins are back eating lunch
in the tree outside the window.
Singing. And no, they aren't drunk.
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