the birdfeeder.

when walking to the bakery
the school down the street tells me i'm virtuous by virtue
of a sign on the stoop

it's a monthly thing. help me
keep time by keeping
me aware of my impacts and ulterior ways of crossing
the street
and or my neighbor.

this month being shorter than most, my gentleness must only
stretch 28 ways from tuesday
and then
rolls over into a double heading
of self service after spending

the dusk observing my soul being saved.


the little birds, all accounted.
all knowing
trusted in ways they'd like to be trusted and revelling in

this fortitude

of having something to strive for
in which they've already striven.

hand in hand in hand with being tenderly
forgetting hard consonants and reasons
for striving
for what

we've attained.

the greatest thing we already have

ready to weep and ready to rejoice. to throw up hands and sing

praise

for all the small things that need praise
and shepardly advice within the confines
of it only being suggested

this is how we keep time when we walk
ending with sweetness and
all the small things have their fill
which isn't much to ask when



you are small
and in need of a virtue to feed on