in an oak forest whispery
with caterpillar droppings
an ovenbird steps out
on her pink feet
as i drink my pink tea
of sassafras and milk
the sun slides down
a silk thread
whose absent abseiler tracks
a shadow back to its tree
a caterpillar with whiskers
as bristly as a streetcleaner
entering a dark valley
in the bark of a chestnut oak
follows it up the trunk
propelled by its gut pulsing
in sync with the prolegs
from hump to hump
driven almost literally by hunger
a body within the body
that one day will crawl out
with wings and gonads
an overwhelming urge to mate
and no mouth
the female so full of eggs
she will not be able to fly
i finish my lunch
the male ovenbird is singing
a carpenter ant goes past
carrying a splinter
