John Donlan is a poetry editor with Brick Books. Copyright rests with the author.

love song, something about a fool
and tears; the vole’s chief keener as he flies
(it’s all our deaths) in the hawk’s claws; two white
eggs the anxious whippoorwill abandoned.

In the sight of at least four hundred trees
promise practicing kindness more often,
not disdain her pleasure, purchases
no matter the coal-fired factories in China:

what is that your business? How many trees
do you kill with your stupid poetry?
You envy her happiness.

Wind ruffles the pond surface sky-blue,
calming to forest green, grey, yellow, overlain
on the bottom’s bright carbon-sink brown.

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