A door raised, smart with a grey stain,
back, flush, flat against slats or a fence,
robin, from a hover, bees, a hummed
huddle toward holes, lines linear
as a game; as an architect’s puzzle.
Would the bats really use that, I muse,
conjuring a piney nest, obscured;
I imagine the chatter of a crowded feeder;
I wonder the wonder, just scrolling.