magpie black, white
etched on blue grey steel
sky

tree bare,
buds in relief

over sloping roof.

now magpies,
fluttering to rest,
white and black,
mate.

never believed in
perspective,
history nor
evolution,

the game of birds
coupling,
pigeon dances
I had seen, yet
still
without belief.

on my man-couch,
reclining,

western cave in
the east,
facing south-

am I at last so
wrong? about
everything?

tomorrow I burst
like the bud

then we shall see
order or
chaos.

will this doubt become
flower
fruit
or leaf?