I open a window

the open window
sound
of rain-
acupunture
on sycamore leaves
in my ears
the pleasure
pimple-pricks my skin

and there
preening its feathers
is a magpie
half-hidden
on a high branch

this morning
such pointed
aural applause
as I join the dots
of the waking world
in the window frame

pitter patter
the matter,
pitter patter
this matter
that makes us