1.
A toast
to bird wings,
whatever kind or name
you’ve been given.
You possess a gift
to help you with your escape
to the farthest ends
of the earth.
Use it!
Scan the grounds
from the skies
where no one can reach
to bring you below.
2.
Modernity finally caught up to heart-face Barn Owl
and dragged him by his wings
to a back alley in broad daylight
to punch and kick him
all over–on his face,
his stomach,
his back,
his groin
with fury, over and over
till sound of sirens from distances
drew closer and closer.
Modernity took off running
hoping to meet up with Barn Owl later
for another chance to finish the job.
3.
Oh, Nightingale–spread your wings and soar.
Sing your heart out with Modernity
alongside you. Sing the blues like no other.
Then turn your blues to songs of joy and thanksgiving
for your voice and wings,
for the freedom of your lungs
to vibrate in the open air of the wilds.
May you crescendo tunes day or night
from perches in shrubbery.
Summon wrens, lyrebird– uncles
and cousins near and far. Raise
your voice and call for a chorus.
Summon mockingbirds to prolong
your melody! Go on and tell us
stories about your recent caged bird
days. A toast!
4.
Oh Chickadee, Chickadee–
from one moment, the yard
is charged with your small sounds,
the next–you’re gone. Sing,
sing your ballad through this night
in the hours between dusk and dawn;
sing on through the stillness of the night
when the city’s sidewalks cleared
and most shops closed. You’re up
at full moon half singing, half asleep.
One eye open, watching–alert
like armed combatants
upon a high tower behind walls,
except you’re perched on branches.
~ ~ ~
Oh Chickadee, Chickadee–the most flaneur
of courting birds,
the weight of two pennies,
how do you survive
through the cold and the snow?
Where do you sleep
and where do you feed?
What secret hideout
preserves your body heat
at fifteen degrees?
What mate awaits
to warm you in the hollow
of nearby trees?
5.
And you, Finch, clever Finch–
what songs are you practicing
in your dreams through this night,
silently from your breast
while you sleep?
Why do you hang upside down
from a twig
as if dead?
But in the morning you rise
filling the air with chirps
to perfection.
You’re another specimen,
another science,
another anatomy,
another planet,
another mystery–in addition–
to behold and unravel,
as we men and women seek
the proper note
to one another’s heartstrings.
What keys do you possess if any?
