In windy July the tree
Is in unending movement
Like the sea that cannot
Stop its dance or chant
In my line of sight a crow
Is busy building a nest with
What it can find on the street
It often catches its breath
While carrying a broomstick
Or dry twig, on my roomy ledge
The heaving branches make the
Little airy home in the making, bob
Seeing all this frenetic realty trend
Another bird is buoyant, serenades
Its speckled mate, through the day and
Night, when its cry cannot go unheard.
