Paws riddle the bark
claws scratch on the back of this leaf
these are not marks meant for you,
tree.
Birds, wings skid along the sky
fly,
cease molting,
longevity.

Cat’s eye felt the rush of the tree
its teeth the leaves
its whiskers the wind
bird the fur flushed back again
evergreen screens hide the screams

of the teeth behind the window pane
eyes waiting for the glass to melt.

—red feather, or maybe the blues.

Cat. Bird. Tree.