Wearing a suit of checkered shadow,
he makes me think of my doctor
tapping on my chest. Nothing in
the woods is as stubborn as this.
He stops and tilts his head to listen
as the tree holds its breath under
the rhythmic blows. When he is done,
the hole he leaves is a home for
a different bird, and when he flies off,
he’s a stone skipped across the air.
Grey Sparrow Journal 