Poetry of Issue #8        Page 62

Black Eyed Sparrow

Black-eyed sparrow sits
in the newly, pruned bush
wondering where his habitat
has gone.
Sunlight now hits branches
that were once his hide-out perch.
Branches cut from trunk
his perch a limited view.
Cumulous, cotton candy white clouds
hang low to the horizon.
Within my grasp?

City yard is quiet now
birds chirping calling out
for what, I do not know.
Thunder of past tropical storm
in the distance
a muffled baritone looking for attention.
Air conditioners hum
in the still humid heat.
I am the watcher.
Show me how you grow.
Garden cucumbers hang
long on the trellis.
This small green space of mine.

  Linda Kleinbub