we sit together,
watching the birds
the herons, ducks, ibises, and pelicans.
yesterday we had a blue jay
and today an anhinga
dries its long black wings
in the dying afternoon
the window panes of houses across the lake
reflect a sky turning pink below the blue
and there are no stars yet,
as the sun sinks behind us
where we sit together
watching the birds
the birds of our childhoods
drift by on the breeze,
the robins, cardinals, the red-winged blackbirds
chase across forgotten fields
of soft brown cat-tails,
their shoulders hunched,
their feathers ruffling,
face first into the wind
“hey son, did i ever tell you
i was a catcher when i was sixteen
they asked me to come to Montreal
for the national bank baseball team
i thought about it all winter
finally i turned it down
i came to America
met your mother
and never did go back home”
A cooing dove interrupts the past
stepping into the silence
we hadn’t even noticed
the absence of jet aircraft
cars, trucks, and televisions,
sirens and motorcycles
and then we are back
here and now
where we sit together,