An old pine with a knot-hole halfway up
may break and hit the house someday; but that's
for me to contemplate. This pair of hawks,
new to the neighborhood, shun the old nest
in the flawed pine, and choose to build a new
apartment in a taller, stouter tree.
They call out to each other as they work,
and warn me to look out for falling timber;
but all that drifts down from their carpentry
is one bright feather, like a calling card.
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