Wednesday morning, 6 AM.
Long low whistle outside.
Not a bird I’ve heard before.
Open a window to clarify:
there it is, a rich trill,
in near distance.
In full view
fat sparrow, fence-mounted, fluffs herself.
Cat whines softly and I step aside
to let her leap up, settle,
There’s that whistle again. Clearly
not made by this sparrow or any other.
Something’s out there
I don’t know —
squirrel scolds as usual, sparrow
fluffs out as usual, cat stares as usual,
I have to take out trash as usual.
It’s bagged and I’m ready
but I hesitate, fearing I might
simply by stepping into