Bird Song


Birds don’t always sing sweet
Sometimes they cry.
Their song sung
Soft from their feathers
Moans bellowed before flight
Tears before the air.

I saw a crow once.
Squawking at an owl.
The crow loud and angry
Screeching beak bared,
His wings flared.
The owl turned and stared
His black head paused
Stunned at her glare.

Birds don’t always sing sweet.
The hoot does not always mean meat.
The wind flows with movement
Tones of emotion like
Notes on a page, words of matter;
Stone, aether, water and fire
Elemental mixes like chemical
Potions that intoxicate;
Like moxie, music, migrations;

At their finest, Eros.

Bird Song

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