Breadwinning for Birds

They pay me to lift the ball off the bat touch the slender hand and slip beneath the taut band I plant bulbs and mulch the mound I hone a group of black birds I do the simplest thing In unison with the trees people move as the sun moves He calls a seagull an eagle and I agree Across the pond they say I will I know this is a problem for the painter, etc. Tell me where to go if they ditch me mid-season tell me a word seeks its world Praise be to the upper lip of decision praise be to dumb clanking stems Everything is alive even you, floral loafer