The bird bellows low, thrusts its
chest, dander spitting through hot bark
it calls with innate confidence and questions,
fires rounds of distinct subterfuge at
facile hawks.

I have become the bird, afloat and
survicing on lost amplitude among
braying *****, mute incantations
for rising suns
           how the dew coated meadow sparks
                    how my song splits the maw / exposing distance as illusion
                              how the pungent firs sigh and heave
                                        how I am the light on their needles, disected and reformed in shadow
                                                  how the hawk is the songbird and I am the hawk and the songbird is I

how behind the mask we are all together faceless