This bird seeks out the ruined heart
of tall pines. Trees that take a long
time to set down roots before they work
on what will be their crowns. Trees that
reach out like high school cheerleaders.
Each limb pompommed with long needles–
limbs that know how to move with the wind,
limbs that rarely know the weight of snow.
None of that can protect their red hearts.
Something worms its way past the bark,
the way rust finds a way through armor,
the way trust is lost between lovers.
This bird knows how to find its way in
when hearts are tender, while resin
can still flow, where homes can be built
for nests where families will be raised.
Its work starts with failure at the heart.