On my final evening in the forest,
I’m looking out at the bird bath
and there is wodan the bronzewing pigeon 
standing on the rim. 

Chunyart the 28 parrot is also there, 
all green and blue and yellow and black,
flapping around 
on the ground and 
on the other side of the rim from wodan.

Chunyart is making a lot of noise now,
but wodan is untroubled—
he stays put and waits for chunyart to go,
then leans down and drinks.

Soon wodan too has left, and chunyart returns.
Then another chunyart.
And before long they have also gone 
and the bath is empty again.

There is so much coming and going
from this cup of water in the forest—
like a kind of liquid eye of attention upon the world
existing also within the human being:
living things arriving, entering, bringing something,
leaving something, departing again.

As I do too,
the very next morning.