My Human Disguise.
The grosbeaks war at my backyard feeder,
The males windmilling their black and white
Wings at each other until one relents.
And the female? For now none heed her,
Fueling themselves for the next long flight.
If she left first would they know where she went?
The male’s breast is fuchsia more than rose,
A color less real but iridescent,
A jewel in a ring when the birds’ wings close —
In flight they stir red, black and white air
(Yes, everywhere in nature red is rare).
The first seen in spring seems a miracle
In a yard home of sparrow and grackle.
When they leave they fly with their own free will.
