A crazy cacophony of birdsong
happens, as it turns out, before dawn.
At least it is happening today and
my brain the human kind that
likes to find order
make assumptions
discover meaning
rest on comforting facts
line up reliable regularity
would like to assume that
this is how it is with birds
on every warm spring morning
still dark awaiting the smile of the sun.
And so now I can know that
days begin with a riot of singing!
How jolly!
Who was that little bird I heard
its clear voice calling He’s he-ere!
across and back through the trees
to a like-minded other who called
it back again and again?
I had no good sighting but committed
the sound to memory with those words.
He’s he-ere! Now I hear Teacher Teacher Teacher
outside my window, my clumsy ears
converting the calls of birds to
human words. In like manner we
interpret each other’s words as we
see fit, right or not and if not
oh what trouble we bring
upon ourselves.