This entry is part 66 of 91 in the series Toward Noon: 3verses


The field sparrow is back—
that rising trill spilling
from a small, pink beak.

A yellow-bellied sapsucker
taps a ring of wells all around
the bole of a hickory.

You nap on the porch,
ears open to the creek and other
migrant tongues.

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3 Replies to “Migrants”

  1. I like how the 3rd tercet takes things to a new place… opening things up in surprising ways. It reminds me of some haiku in which the 3rd line turns everything. I’m probably not making much sense here, so I’ll just say again how much I really like this series.

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