October by Mary Oliver (parts 2 & 3)

2

I said to the chickadee, singing his heart out in the green pine tree:

little dazzler,

little song,

little mouthful,

3

The shape climbs up out of the curled grass. It

grunts into view. There is no measure

for the confidence at the bottom of its eyes--

there is no telling

the suppleness of its shoulders as it turns

and yawns.

                                     Near the fallen tree

something--aleaf snapped loose

from the branch and fluttering down--tries to pull me

into its trap of attention.