Oddly enough, everything looks
similar to yesterday—Lilac’s timid
blooms in the west; these Dogwoods
forced to thrive. When not-touching
is a thing we do, I avoid every-
one I can. But what of this rain
of acorns and Starlings; and how
I’ve been meaning to smell a
Southerly wind? I will make my
own Beatitudes—Blessed be
walking Pelicans—Blessed be
the silent people—and I will
always remember to leave
something for the birds.