The robins nesting next door
explore the honeysuckle
in my yard. Sometimes leaves
rattle and then a young
spotted robin emerges,
round red honeysuckle berry
grasped in its beak.
The robins drink up
honeysuckle as if
imbibing the wine
of holy grail.
The arching branches
of honeysuckle
trail the ground,
heavy with fruit.
Even my dog,
lazing in the shade,
emerges from his nap,
the fur of his ears
stained red.

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