the animate swallows of
tahoe wood meadows
drift pine top to pine top
on carnival wings
they squeak across blueness
announcing existence
and twirl through the breezes
quick moths of the day
dive, glide, and whistle
white breasted as penguins
then outstretch like aerocraft
slicing the sky
the pines thrust up heavenly
no death about them
lusty green needles
buttress every spare twig
men in the distance blast
something post-Beethoven
kick drum, guitar, bass
a car door slams shut
her atmosphere cherishes
all that it caresses
pines, larks, a poet,
the stones by the shore.