backyard_blathing tender_square george hops the dirt mounds and studies me; how long until i crack and go inside for nuts? children scream in staccato shrills at some unknown agitator. a grackle breaks from a hidden shawl of arbor vitae towards me, its flap of black wingspan catching my breath. the firepit’s windbreaker is askew again, revealing a potbelly of rust. in the distance, a neighbour hammers metal, a hesitant woodpecker. a rabbit enters from stage right, freezes in the spotlight of my eyes before taking hasty exit. the barkestra rages on; a lone baritone howls while the sopranos yap in competition. a mourning dove coos above the din and my heart aches at this distance i long to close. helicopter pods twirl in controlled descent, riding forces i can’t see but trust; to everything there is a season, turn, turn, turn. 220521 ... tender_square tapping squirrel claws against a dying maple’s wrinkles are a soft-shoe essence: rat-tat-tat, tat-rat-tat, tat-rat-rat. the adirondack chair i chose to sit in last time now has an inordinate amount of robin shit streaked from crown to base, an unbroken two-foot drip of bird diarrhea. doug says it’s due to buckthorn; birds get drunk on the black drupes and then they just perch around, popping. my yard’s full of it. two squirrels squawk and give circuitous chase before separating on opposing ends of the yard, while clara, the bunny, eats dandelions with ears perked like antennas. a man sings a made-up song consisting of his child’s name but it sounds off-key. someone rolls their garbage bin back to house, rattling a song of loose plastic parts in steady rhythm. henbit grows prodigiously, a lilac rush announcing spring with its trumpets. my new neighbour waters her nascent raised beds for the hundredth time in days; nothing sprouts. a maple pod falls atop my hand, mid-type, and i know it’s him, reaching for my hand from afar. 220524 ... tender_square mosquitos orbit furiously, their chaotic clash made visible by sun—is this the prelude to a fight or the frenzy of love? a generator growls a song of industry and gasoline and i’m left spent from the week. leaf shadows project an alive lace onto ground, a monochromatic movement that enlivens. a tin pinwheel spirals counter-clockwise, unspools the longing of a different path, one where i wouldn’t be where i am now, filled with intentions of leaving. 220617 ... tender_square a hundred different bird conversations occur all at once, obscuring the human voices singing in adjacent yards. a red squirrel surfs the shoot of a tree, its tail an antenna for danger, and it squeaks like a toy chewed by a dog as it watches me. a slight branch hangs limply by a thread of phloem, leaves curled with the stiff crunch of death. the noisy flightpaths of overhead planes bisect the airspace. variegated leaves are so still and the sky is so cloudless it’s hard to believe this shiftlessness could constitute movement. two northern flickers roost and neck on the extended arm of a buckthorn. a man repeats “no, no, no” like a plea. a lawn mower motor is cut and suddenly a tension i was holding lifts; a swathe of silence wraps around my shoulders with the careful grace of my lover’s frame. 220623 what's it to you? who go blather from