It’s an installation: Wrens pinned like brooches
to the trees, singing, their eyes glass beads.
Shake a branch, be wary of what falls.
In the unofficial spring, sunshine plays xylophone
on the lawn. The trebly notes are mouths
singing oh, oh, oh. A paper boat leads
the children downstream, through countless
shades of green—spring, grass, moss, forest.
Light plus one green makes another.
The exhibit rotates seasonally. Soon enough
the children will instead be foxes, the greens
will rust. Someone will strike the wren set.
But for now their songs saturate the air.
If the message is urgent, they’ll tell again tomorrow.
