The Woodpecker’s Song

A rhythm as

sharp as

an unwanted question,

Each knock

on my house

a beat of possession.

Black and

white wings in

contrast beware,

A sentinel

of wood

 and air.

Not a feast

but a dance on

my hollow eaves,

Melody

tapping

through autumn leaves.

Perched

like a thought

I cannot shun,

It leaves, but the echo lives on.

(per my husband – it’s a stucco pecker)