LatinosUSA

It is the smallest thing attended least
I most connect. Suddenly a feather touch
alerts my sleeping mind, and there’s a Robin
perched upon my rod puffing his red breast
seemingly larger than the hovered sun, bigger
than the fish I wait to catch, and somehow
more important than myself.

Head cocked sees the maggots in my box,
his eye swivels, rests on me and knows
instantly I’m not a threat, neither my code
or any order I conceive.

Inwardly understanding

the man, my baggage, this shading tree
its’ watery web of root, floating debris,
the noise of Coot, Pigeon, Duck, and Heron.

And above, the shading tree, the windy sky
are all in place, elsewhere pointed,

harmony prevailing.

Stabbing with his beak, picks once, twice,
flies up and settles on a nearby tree
his attention elsewhere. In a blink of eye
he disappears. Half asleep I wing skyward
heart beating in the robins’ red breast.

© Tony Ashenden 2026