Across the path from us, hummingbirds nest
in a dogwood before its blooms can block their constant watch.

The tree is listed for removal,
and a grim race is joined by nestled eggs and a calendar.

We watch the race hopefully, that would-be wings may test the sky.
Pier beams under the tree roots are begging for repair.

We watch the race with urgency.
The beams support our home the same as the branch holds up the nest.

Quiet time surrounds us, under constant watch.
Impartial days have no choice, and fly on burdened wings.