Thursday, June 2, 2011

june second

like birdsong

Though the seasons are evenly
spaced, every year I manage
to forget the songs of birds.
Just today I heard the black-headed
grosbeak’s high wavering notes
and recalled teaching you
ornithology on Garden Street.
We started with a plastic owl
and the baby sound of terns crying
in the distance. Somehow we ended
here, with a mountain bluebird
whistling, bright as ferry weather sea.
This whole world is full of sounds
that will haunt me each season.
Oh, there are parts of me I cannot save. 
There are parts of you
that have become like birdsong. 

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