which naked branches make
a paper wasp’s antennae twitch
out scouting for a nesting place
hind legs outfitted in safety orange
at the top of an oak curled
like a scroll around its missing heart
two flickers perched a foot apart
engage in a bowing contest
a green sweat bee wallows
through the wind-blown hair on my arm
fresh from a blossoming shadbush
that bridal delicacy
a gnatcatcher’s two-note song
sounds both necessary and sufficient
i step aside for a dust-devil
made of dead leaves
it careens off for another hundred feet
and rises into the canopy
as if the devil intends to re-leaf
not with new growth but old
a project as certain to fail
as May Day will come
