The mule was braying
by the weathered fence
Telling the sparrows,

“We can only love
as much as we hate

There is only as much peace
as there is rage.”

The plump passerines flew about,
lovely, looping, laughing
twitters on summer air.

Until the mule
sad and hurt, watched them
away

“we can only find
what we lose”

he said to no one
not even me.