---
layout: post
title: "Pith: A Walk in a Copse"
date: 2020-08-17
---

The blunt clicks of landed dragonflies  
a puzzle of a descending squirrel  
bare branches of a dying tree.
  
When I move,   
they move.
  
One copper fly upon my hand.  
  
Chittering louder  
as I draw closer.  
  
Truck revving  
Roadster revving  
in machined competition.  
  
Why this copper  
on this stump.  
  
Is it dead?  
  
Why these women  
     a caress of grass.  
  
Is demand real?  
  
As insistent  
as the cries  
of this  
Western wood pewee  
Weee-wee-wee-ing.  
  
Echo of a killdeer.  
Please don't  
Please don't  
make me  
kill you,  
dear.