Weedeater sounds like a fussy baby–outside
the landlord’s landscaping contractor
uses this sunny moment to his advantage,
knocks down the long/wild grasses.
Through a window, this is my afternoon
company, a duet we do though
blinds. My windows remain closed.
It is easier that way.
In time, new sounds will come–
the mower’s low hum and the return of birds.
Poets–me included–love birds like Audubon must’ve.
Such solidarity, such freedom in flight.