The Fountain Cracked, Its Basin Filled

The fountain stands in the lot
Its basin filled with dead leaves
And ash-gray moths
Floating in the filmed water.
I saw a bird perch there
On the cracked rim.
It twisted its head one way
And then another
As if searching for something
I could not see.
It searched the lot,
An old garden, unkept and overgrown
With dandelions and ragtails.
(Wild strawberries still grow there.)
Then the jay flew into a patch
Of green and brown.