Poems At Dawn
Through my open window
they proclaim the
return of their fiery avian
god resurrected daily, filling
my room
with waxing light to
illuminate all
these darting and flitting
notes of birdsong,
a wave of cunning invaders
that rush
the bloodless breach to
infect the swelling
crescendo of my dreams, a
clear running
brook garbling the name of
every smooth
stone caressed on its way down
to the sea,
a musical coda in a
foreign
tongue yet another night's
mute witness
to this messy business,
the purging of
my soul in preparation for
a brand
new day; the first order
of business to
lay here and speculate on
their hopeful
call and response: an
invitation to
eat or mate perhaps or a fervent
prayer
to save the world from the
likes of us at
least for one more day,
but settle on the
unsettling possibility
that they’ve
been feeding me poems at dawn,
perched here in
my nest, eye on the sky,
the beat of a
wing - promise of another juicy
worm.
