found becomes lost —

the catbird starts a new nest

and gives us the slip

one bluejay, one crow

each insisting the other

quit the highest branch

once again this spring

we miss our chance to help

the peonies stand tall

(for Anne)

today I can tell

that I ran just far enough —

gnats in my nose

tide charts —

I go looking

for the full moon

my father checks in —

we remember not his words,

but their quaver

tucked away

in the hearts of trees —

wide open bird beaks

crayfish in the creek

leaving a muddy cloud

as they back away

startling a rabbit

and feeling in that zigzag

the friction of choice