We live each other's death

and die each other's life,

borrowing a cold flame

from sycamore in early leaf.

This morning, after heavy rain
the street erupts with birds:

grackles sharpen swords

and cedar waxwings strip

the vines, declaring love and war.

With tail cocked, I guard the stoop
from strangers, ill-at-ease.

As sunlight strikes a wheel,

I think as Sulla thought??

hostis, host and enemy

to every sound that swells my throat.