the Cafe Castelo can was a cheerful canary-yellow
with a wooden cover secured on the top
and holes on each end to let the weather pass through

it hung, turned up just a bit, on a forest-green shepherd’s hook
which I’d tucked beneath the shade of forsythia and magnolia
above the hostas and toad lilies

broken twigs poked out of the larger entrance hole
made wide enough to welcome a soft-winged tenant
a nest, a solitude, a nap-quiet sanctuary

I wondered who, if anyone, might be hidden in the darkness
shadowed from view, in this snug bed and beanery
defying the plate-blue spring sky above

tilting it closer, for just a second

I looked, when something so sudden
shot like a cannon ball, straight out at me
an angry blur of wind, a fist-sized bundle of defense

so furious and immediate
the righteous reply
slammed shut the open air