The Birds Are Pecking at Breadcrumbs

The birds are pecking at bread crumbs and suet,
The rooster knows how to crow, the crow
Seeks shiny things. In the end,
The hummingbird seeks an incognito

Land, trees just beginning to grow.
There is a man in charge of the lawns.
He’s not stupid, but how much can you say
To the spring flowers and occasional fawns?

Well, all right, that’s not what we need,
Sometimes a walk beneath the crags
Is what we need. And since we’ve seen
Van Goghs, the way the wind zigzags

Across the fields is familiar.
We smell the moist chlorophyll,
And see the yellow flowers, and
The thick-lobed leaves on the Catskill,

A spray of rain that sifts the smell
Of tar from the wind, an old man
And a warm wind, an acorn, a creek
And the sand in a glinting gold pan.