-Nearly suitable for children-

I awakened early to the rapid rat-a-tat-tat of the woodpecker.

I understand the language it speaks:

"This is my tree and I'm looking for love".

An overnight rain and the grass is a cool slop at my feet

as I trek to resolve my grievance toward the tree-line at the riverbank.

But unrelenting, too, is the love-beating song of the woodpecker.

It seems to be coming from the east, the direction where

I last laid down the game-riven five-fingered glove.–– Wait, no,

––westward, the direction where loved ones have made their house.

Rat-a-tat-tat, rat-a-tat-tat,.. "Here I am"!

knocks the bird with the stabbing épeé of a beak!

Where are you, woodpecker?––

Do you know why it is I've come to seek you out?

You woke me from a sound morning’s sleep, didn't you, woodpecker?

Was that not an invitation to attend your love song's recital, woodpecker?

6:10 AM / Swansea, Massachusetts