Early in the century
A front porch with a porch swing
is what the peasants aspire to.
Portland in the summer is still
Portland, but the birds believe
they have moved to an exotic location
where the sun is a fragile flower.
I resolve to remain impartial
when the trees gather in the forest.
I don’t notice the trees are made of paper.
The birds fly when I move the wires
connected to their wings.