Red Robin

robin red breast sits on the crab
apple tree, looks at me
as if he has something to say,
cocks his head this way and that,
wondering if I’m listening

we begin a silent dialogue. I ask him
how his journeys went and if he had missed
me, he laughs with his feathers all puffed
and fluffed out, he hops
with joy, from branch to branch.

“You’re such a silly old bird.”