Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

In the Garden

Under the apple trees
I stare at the limbs
with new shoots
hearing their composition
built on last season’s memory
while the wind rustles leaves
as chorus.

Perched on a branch, a blue jay calls
in arpeggios, lonely plaintive pleas
sending out a sequenced tune,
then pauses to hear a seductive chirp;
yet, without a reply, it lets out
a wailing cry,
then takes off in a flurry of wings.

After it, I open my eyes to the sky
where something circles
a little too long without a song.
Was it a reverie? It could be,
but no surprise since
when I squint,
through the sun’s light,
dust columns arise and play
dizzying tricks,

and unsteady on legs,
in the garden’s solitude,
I spread myself on the grass
like fallen fruit.
Does the earth want me back?

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Prompt: a favorite specific tree (in honor of Arbor day)