I’ve made friends 

with the willow leaves outside my window. 

Buds span from an outstretched hand—

They wave to me,

and we play hand games

from both sides of a barrier. 

 

They sway, between games,

and I’m familiar with their movement.

I’ve watched before their undulation,

their careen in the breeze. 

 

A red cardinal nestles, sometimes, 

between its branches. 

I watch her perch, a visiting companion.

Watch her chin lurch upwards, and she surveys—

Watch her lips open, and she whistles—

I can sing with her, her song.

Her favorite scale, her rolling vibrato. 

 

These friends, outside, 

they always return. 

 

Such a thin division, 

between my friends and me. 

 

Their presence welcome 

before the stillness of our kitchen.