For Frank Tassone’s haikai challenge.

sun melts and drips

yellow as an oriole’s feathers

into the hush

with the sweet golden fluting

of his song

among the leaves

limp with sun

where wood pigeons croon lullabies

shade dapples flash with spread wings

and the heat sings

molten beams spread

flowing

a rising tide

until the evening is awash

with liquid sun

and still the singing

no audience

no applause

only the heckling of woodpeckers

shadows lengthening

and perhaps at the end

before the night

when sleep calls

the satisfaction

of a job well done