On a Moonlit View

I saw a woodpecker under a knot
on a tree—but a yard from the ground,
perched vertically, as they will,
incline its head to look at me
in the bright moonlight. I was uncertain
about whether it was a dogwood,
but, thinking that it was, I thought of you
and your tendency to think of men as dogs.
Two men, meanwhile, were thinking of us,
and I, out of interest for the low-hanging bird’s
absent peck, thought of you, thinking,
the dogwood knot…the dogwood knot.
For I was interested in what the dogwood knot
would not—would not—would not—do
(do you hear?), which, in your dog-men view,
leaves only what men—would not—
would not—would not—do. This brings me
to the actual moonlight of the men speaking,
the talk of what you would not—would not—
know that men would do, the obverse of your view
and the fact that it was actually,
when I looked again, a maple, a sugar maple,
from which the sap would flow if it were colder,
but from which no sap would flow,
and what you did not know that I would do.
They were at the knot on that maple.









Robert Wooten’s most recent collection is a chapbook, Famous Last Words, published by In His Steps Publishing in 2007. His poems have appeared in various publications, including The Lyric, Poem, and Asheville Poetry Review. His poetry currently appears in Old Red Kimono, Poetic Matrix, and The Dirty Napkin.