Grackle on the grass,
surely you should not be the bird
to leap and peck so light-footedly
under a young plumeria tree
shaken lightly enough by the wind
to scatter petals
across morning freshness
in a circle of cool black shade
And yet we old men
passing through shadows
on our path of angst
know that when you fly
your tail feathers too
spread to show a flash of white
as we once did
before we knew memory