the muskrat is watching me
from inside the wall
along the river as it near-bursts
with spring’s floor and a dozen ducks
trying to find a mate

the hawk is circling above
as I sit among the nervous pigeons
hungry and wanting more
than a 6-inch sandwich full of nothing
particularly good.

tomorrow, the rain will fall
this sun will forget I was here
the muskrat and the hawk will too
— of course I know there is no tomorrow

a squirrels scurries across my foot
up a tree and out of sight — unaware
I did not say the words
I should have said.

The river continues rising
so I do too and sigh as I leave.