At all hours of the day, in every kind of weather all those structured settlements;
a sooty fox sparrow embodies happiness when I'm watching her even if she’s too busy.

I used to work as a mall intercept surveyor; my job was to test NRA push polls aimed
against
a ban on leghold traps, I’d ask questions that would convince people they were a good thing.

Still, making a birdhouse is healing. A basin extends time and draws sparrows to the yard. 
Writing these words vents the anxiety out of my head.

I know what's inside me I like your tapping its steady clatter you're getting work done.
Small loves you take along. Each moment dusts you ever so lightly. It's good you get to stop 
being so spooky.

Late into the summer, rising among the evergreen woods, filling the air with their sighing;
of the wind in the spruces, they soon come to know you if you feed them in their necessity.

What I loved in my job was the slow times. I rested by one of the fountains near the food 
court.
Somehow there were sparrows in the mall, their wildness in such a superfake space 
delighted me.

I'd watch them, and my mind would fill up with sentences. I didn't write them down.
Whole novels fluttering around me and my official white jacket; I didn't know I was 
learning how to choose my own life.

Then a structure is a bandage. A sentence is a span and so is durational, changing what you 
know.
If you're opportunistic everything is a nest. Untangled a nest is a path. Your head is full of 
sentences.