POEM: Lakelife

When birds converse,
I try to listen.
Their sounds tongue-in-groove

together like
fresh carpentry.
Each one sends up

a chirp, then listens
to the other.
In the distance,

over the lake,
Hammering takes
on the quality

of birdsong.
Humans cough up
their own banging

call-and-response.
What is that like –
to live in a way

that blends in with
the soft sunrise?
To rise & run

down to water’s
edge, to meet friends
& take off water-

Skiing before
others have risen
to morning coffee?

Is this the outcome
of some master plan
Or just the result

of sinewy thinking?