Morse code of the woods
this dit dot dash of razor
sharp bills hammering through
sloughing bark into dry trunk

Sawdust flying as they carve
a series of perfectly round
holes as if bored by seasoned
carpenter’s auger

Messages flashing across
tree tops that they’re grubs
to be had to feed hungry
nestlings and seed ferried

From swaying feeders gets
split open as though by
a woodcutter’s axe halving
a single log with one swing precision

Ladderback, Downy, Red Head,
Hairy and Flicker paling against letters
left behind by a mohawked Pileated
scaling up the power pole

Code echoing across the canal
above an unmistakable signature
I came, I hewed, I fed
dit dot dash.