Warblers
Every September they reappear
for a week or so, before summer
truly ends. They dart by
with a measured recklessness.
Green, yellow-green,
and small as birch leaves,
Cape Mays or Magnolias
never fail to keep me
of two minds about the world,
looking up as much as down.
I've followed the crooked line
they take high into trees,
tucking themselves into shade,
and seen clusters of grapes
hanging so naturally at that height
you'd think they'd grown
by some human arrangement.
But it's a lifetime since farm people
made a home here and maybe
marked a place to grow fruit
and watch birds.
Still those grapes keep hanging on,
bringing warblers in by the bushel,
as if someone knew it could always be.