a woodpecker
I know by sound
strobes from tree to tree
black white black white
red head — I move
it disappears
nearby a hollow cone
augers into a mossy
pine — gray bark
torn down to wine red
down to carroty orange
to ivory splinters
the cone’s tip
is a tenebrous hole
fringed by velvety shreds
at the tree’s core
a murky depth
not heartwood
as if the pine trunk
held not inner
but outer space
a macrocosm
pileated woodpecker
hammers its way to
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