A Poem a Day (351): The woodpecker

 

 

 

The woodpecker

 

How wide is the step on which you sit,

how square the tile, how far the dial?

 

We sand down the stars by night,

so you can find your way by daylight.

 

Nothing gives in winter’s cold breast;

its heart beats colder these drawn hours.

 

I saw a woodpecker once, its soft bright

scarlet breast, black-and-white markings

 

in stark contrast to the withered grey tree;

a hollow bark that would be pulled down.

 

It seemed alien, too exotic for the garden,

almost shouting out its own standout.

 

It had flown in less than a half hour.

I don’t know if it found a reason to return,

 

but here it sought a kind of sanctuary.

Where will you fly to this morning?

 

The day rides on your expectations.

Is the bark too hollow for your misgivings?

 

 

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, January 15 2021