Walking to the water trough

I stopped to see a squirrel stop,
a red squirrel drinking at the tap.

Hearing me it climbed the first
thin branches of a pine, then looked
to see if I was any kind of threat.

And as I stood, a blackcap settled
on a branch, then hummingbird-like
seemed to stop midair while

the Yellow King with his horde
of hungry ghosts, the White King
surrounded by celestial musicians,

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