Summer Tanager

At the tail end
Of the season,
In cottonwoods
By cow pastures,

That washboard trill,
Half like wind chimes,
Half like a stick
Run down fence boards,

Trails from summer
As a bright red
Patch high in green,
Loud, hard to spot,

Which gives you pause
While the black cows
Browse, since you know
It flies off soon.