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,
the Red King with his entourage
of kumbhandas and fever spirits,
and the Green King took their stand.
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