If I go into the forest and call out ah roo ba roo oo
several times in high pitch
will the ‘elepaio answer?
Tiny hopping friend
curious as I work in his forest home
omao calls and the dogs listen
dogs speaking with their breathing
watch my movements and so seem to hear my thinking
“where are my puppies?”
no need to vocalize the question
they see me straighten and turn my head
bolt toward me on a collision course of fur and saliva
swarm of apapane flitter
in a wake before the onslaught of dog below
fanning wings brilliant crimson rising
ground marching pheasants that click and shriek
know to stay away
fuzzy chicks in a clutch in someone’s ginger who is never around
We are home in the forest
symphony of song hapu’u unfurling announcing spring
dark shape in the canopy I’o watches all
while i’iwi’s whistle calls out in piccolo perfection
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