and mewed from the weeping
cherry for its mate who lies
on the trimmed Bermuda.
Its tiny body lay beneath
the raspberries, black cap,
wing slate gray, feathers
dribbled with red.
Smooth, cold
a stone skips
the pond's silk.
Riffles weave
outward. Gravity catches
the rock. When it's pulled
to the depths, no circles
mark its passing.
