As the squirrel does

As the squirrel does

She flattens her sandy, white

belly on the tree branch, lifts

her muzzle to the morning’s

musk. Into a C she curls, spine

kyphotic by choice (or design),

and nibbles on a sprig of walnut

leaves. She circles the thick

limb splayed like a spider.

The world is departing and she

does not know it, or perhaps

she can feel it in the warming

of the air, the shrinking of nuts.

Books hold no power for her.

No poem could be more profound

than a walnut shell clenched

between two teeth. I, too, sniff

the day and bite.

Photo by Shane Young on Unsplash