A Screaming Comes Across the Sky

The same scurry of youthful squirrels that explored this back yard in April still chase one another this morning.

Do they prepare for winter as October winds wind down from a shout to a chant, when the unseen circuitry between flaming maples avoids conclusion?

Our rich presence.

We mine love songs among our motherlode of chips.

What concern might squirrels possess as earth spins into longer nights?

Do they anticipate?

What graying rodent considers the B-52’s “The Final Tour Ever of Planet Earth” with the synchronicity of a Laurie Anderson interview as they swing from the high wire magic of Faraday and Edison to the limbs of ash, parched leaves that wonder when the emerald beetle will finally steal their shade?

Does one ash signal the next tree of the invasion of blight?

Do they prophesize poverty?

Is there a map to guide squirrels as they launch an arc from the draining energy of a hardwood to the shingles of a garage that leans toward an alley?

A squirrel chases one sibling, then the schematic reverses, yin to yang.

Patterns often mumble obscurely as we drive to work in a daze of muscle memory. A squirrel’s sprint across lanes ahead jerks our attention present, for a moment. Other underlying forms echo in unmeasured bars, then hide throughout many lives until the rainbow surrenders to gravity’s seduction. The carcass crashes on the corner of Newton and Heisenberg.

Does anyone still read Delmore Schwartz in dim taverns with empty wine bottle candle holders?

Does the squirrel hear the 16-gauge roar at the end?