(Valentine) Birds of Play

A game of hide and seek, the birds

inside the boxwoods making shrubbery

sing and trill its desire (reminding me 

of other bushes that burn with fire).

As I pass, they quiet.  I move,

they start again, we play this game

of love, of fleeting signs and flipping

our display, of feigning and igniting,

such delicately tuned engines.

In the glitter of winter sun, why shouldn’t 

songbirds rock the hedge — I walk on.

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