Wind Chimes
WIND CHIMES
The chickens carried on
with what they knew to do, huddled
in the harbor of the henhouse
as the sky winged into a hawk,
circling. Wood chips took flight
from the mulch pile to speckle
the house’s siding, a loose shingle
lifting like tail feathers
or the feed bag scraping across
the field with the neighbor,
out to bolt lock the shed door.
We are offered little reason to believe
the storm will abate or alter course,
and littler reason still not to do
what little we might to set it ringing.
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