Barren

The birds appear to chat

on the grassy moss patch

that has crawled over the harbor

at low tide like a map

*

They bob their heads and ponder

their eyes flicker but don’t wander

as they fly back to their island homes

in straw nests above the monsters.

*

The moss grows up the tree trunk

as the leaves come spilling in

comfort and shade in the spring

the harsh winter sun burned their wings.

*

The world comes alive but animals don’t thank it

humans wonder why they take it for granted

as we kill it with our metal machines

roosting in homes that made forests barren.