The song of the singing bird
directly over our heads
we arch our backs and squint
lean away from the horizon of reference
and enter another world.
You jump and point – there! there!
I stand at your back
follow your arm, your finger
and there among the swaying leaves
out on a branch
a gray breast of feathers
covers tiny pulsing lungs.
The song begins again
and then from a distance
comes a faint answer
the breast swells and flutters.
We grab our book
search for a name for this
but only find white pages
covered with black marks.
No comments:
Post a Comment