it’s so quiet I can hear life tic

cloaked in my black turtleneck
its weave warms instantly as the
sun’s dapples, having fallen
between the limbs, strike

everything relaxed
I hear the tic of an occasional
winged callings across silent currents
spindled legs hum quietly yet frenetically in unknown languages
the rustled leaves shift during bushy tailed foraging
loud and louder still in the burst then again again

an intrusion of the ebbing stream
cedar panels echo with repetitive beatings

assuming a small flitting winged pecker
I rise, with a silent stalk to the edge, cornering MY shelter, i shoooo him off its protective facade.

MINE. not yours.
human cognition, fear, and thus possessiveness take over the moment
darn again


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