by Michael H. Lester

A black phoebe has taken a liking to our backyard, perching variously on the spent orchid stem, the tomato plant cage, the long slender stem of the Agapanthus, and the telephone wire. She visits often throughout the day, feeding on the small yellow moths she spies in the grass, swooping down to snatch them and gliding back up to her perch to swallow them.

as I slice

the grapefruit into quarters

I keep one eye

on the paring knife

one eye on the black phoebe

She deposits her delicate white droppings on the tomatoes, the patio, and on the grass without the slightest sign of embarrassment or remorse. For my part, I consider her presence a gift and her droppings a little surprise package delivered right to my door at no cost to me.

a special

on fresh fertilizer

I trust

the delivery person

to find the right spot

Our dog, Newman, a cute mongrel weighing about 18 pounds, has gone blind. He can’t see the black phoebe and pays it no attention, instead spending the day lying on the driveway soaking up the comforting heat of the afternoon sun. Sometime this afternoon, looking for a spot to deposit his own droppings, Newman must have been sniffing around the black phoebe’s perch, because stuck to his furry belly was a feather from the black phoebe!

I admire

a treasure from the wing

of the black phoebe

a black-tipped scrivener’s quill

to dip in my inkwell