Thursday, July 22, 2010

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.

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