He sits upon the fence
and watches, proud chest
puffed in morning ceremony.
He watches the breeze
flit between the leaves
and fallen debris,
skittering across the blades
of grass speckled
with midnight dew.
He watches me and you,
the cat too.
A robin red breast
Poppins would say has very
little time to rest,
and yet, he stays
with an amused gaze;
the miniature hawk
of the morning,
dusk in mourning.
Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019