30.

and the orioles arrive

astonishing, set against

a new canopy, for an

instant, artificial brilliance

(can we believe true
beauty?) then clearly alive
weightless, at work

singing in swollen light

weaving the hanging nest

(David’s sling…) above

the wet black driveway

it’s been a long winter

and now on wings

from across these rivers

stretching into longer days

dreams (dangling) amid

supple limbs and

the unfolding lives

of orange birds