Kinds of Honey

The red-winged blackbird didn’t move

from his perch on the wooden post,

.

even though I walked steadily and

my dog ran away and back for tennis balls.

.

Down over the hill, across the water

and the marshes, others of his kind

balanced on the tops of reeds.

.

“Aren’t you afraid, fellow?”

I finally had to ask him, when I stood only a foot

away, admiring the creases of his feathers.

.

He unfolded and resettled himself,

the red shoulders flashing.

.

Then he spread his wings wide,

but the pause had been long enough

for me to know what he meant.

.

I live here.

.

I watched him fly down to the marshes,

where the light faded into blue and shade.

.

Then we walked on, dog and person,

tossing the tennis ball like two children

in the neighbors’ big backyard.