For the bird

The creek took the oxbow back
water rushing its greening constituents
once wildness begins
it can get out of hand
leave it to us
we'll have no service roads here
that bird in her dust bath
between two scrawny bushes
thinks its political
apian thieves have what we need
flying liaison with wax and sting
dozens of prodigal, praiseworthy chums
collaborating with a starving cherry tree
straggling dianthus, sloppy astilbe
crows call out the cat
the other birds have gone to lunch
lambs ears loose all over the garden
because we failed to deadhead
always a bird short

Is there anything growing we can make into pie? 
“where's the rhubarb?" the birds want to know
I've never seen a bird eat rhubarb
still it would make a good pie
we are a disappointment to these small town birds
who do not care for hot dog buns
"we're not pigeons, you know"

A good station hand, hat band
all the TV dogs go for her
driving the east road to cheap jake's
mostly aware of the birds
because she loved them and they love this road
at the edge of the fields
the seeds, all the bugs
drawn in the science of comic books
described so even birds believe