Of all the things that make me lonely

Birdsong is the best

Beyond my reach, Out of sight

Emphatic longing in tiny breast

And tiny breaths devoted to hope

To hunger, to melancholy notes

Of nothing really but to say I am

I am I am I am I am

And wait for the inevitable song

That sings I too, I too, I too

In tree and cloud and endless blue sky

I am, I am, you too.

But unlike my own hesitant noises

That mostly in the nighttime sound

It is sunlight which alerts the birds

And awakens their insistent rounds –

Not me, not me, not me I call

In shadows and dreams and unmade wishes

In limitless silence and dark, dark darknesses

I say Tis all, tis all, tis all.