He comes from the woods
heavily
on all fours
brown back bristling
in the
cold morning sun
Up on hind legs
he sniffs at the wind
down once again
nuzzles a blueberry bush
I sit
tin cup coffee at window
He sniffs
sparse brown grass
noses a birdfeeder
scratches icy earth
Then
having found
that which he came for
he’s back to the woods
a frozen squirrel clenched
in
excited hungry mouth
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