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.