My day is breaking my heart.
In addition to
sparrows and starlings,
downy woodpeckers
and nuthatches on the ground
below the feeders,
today I have welcomed
one cardinal, one catbird,
and a grackle to the yard.
My day is breaking my heart.
All these lives dependent
to some degree upon me,
and more appearing all the time.
My day is breaking my heart.
I don’t have any desire to chase away
the squirrel who is hanging now,
inverted, from the double cage.
A sparrow on the top of
the spindle bush, waiting;
can’t see any other birds
but they must be close because I know
if I bang on the window
and the squirrel leaps away
they’ll be back in no time.
My day is breaking my heart.
All I can do is look out the window
and do my part when the feed runs out.
All I can do is wonder if I’ve ever done enough
and know deep within that I have not,
and that is enough to break my heart
once a day, every day,
a thousand times a day,
though I know the birds
will survive without me
and the day itself
doesn’t care if I die.
