Toast
     for Ron Padgett

What can I say?
Taking another sip 
of coffee, I keep
trying to decipher
the chirps and chatter
of the birds 
frantically yelling 
at each other outside 
my open windows.
The morning remains 
darker than this cup.
Or maybe I’ve closed
my eyes in concentration.
To heighten certain senses.
To focus my attention.
Whatever I’m doing, 
it doesn’t appear
to be working.
I’m as terrible
at eavesdropping
as these birds 
are at “singing.”
I’m the worst spy. 
Or else I’m not 
really their audience.
The only thing
I know for sure is,
everybody needs to relax. 
Well I do, anyway.