it will be fall soon,
the time of migration.

and we who stay firmly planted
to this one ground,
must travel by auto
or foot
or motorcycle
to stand
******
to the rite of birds.

incapable of design
or constructing dams or
computer,
schools or planes,
they live in a deeper
knowledge, purer communion
with a god that calls them forth.

and they answer
in worshiping flight,
marked above the rivers and marshes.

and we stand small
before their understanding
of the sometimes
clock work
creation,
asking of each other profound questions
of philosophy and logic
and theology.

but let us leave some questions
to priests
some to engineers
some to men better read in the ancients
than us.

where no question are possible,
no word necessary,
we will come here
to stand beside the river,
smelling mud
and listening
as faith
migrates.

If you only know how to hold me at night,  
If we cannot afford the morning light,    
Then release me at the dawn.              

You were never mine to hold,              
I was never yours to mold,                  
We just rented the hours,                  
Borrowed the rooms.        

As the waves crash against the shore,    
Erasing our footprints before sunrise,

Open your palms,                          
Let me be the bird,                      
That leaves before the window closes.

i walked the levee that
separated the marsh and the river.

a cold front migrating,
not unpleasant,
clouded dense gray,
hardly a call to the winter that
must follow, rather an invitation.

bands of southward fowl
had settle over night,
the sound of them
carried on the wind,
audible a mile below the ditches
i walked towards.

hoping to list, blue teal, scaup,
mallard, canada, red head
and ring necked,
and not a hundred yards away,
one peregrine over head.

at the sound
of my approach,
unseen below the lip of the levee,
ten thousand birds
of a dozen different stripes
took to flight, heaving to the sky,
as if the earth had exploded before me
and for minutes,
great groups departed noisy,
again and again
until the marsh fell quiet.

and there was little remaining
but scattered feathers
floating on the still waters.

i hear the birds sing
to eachother
from across the street.

why can't we have life
that simple?

In jagged twist and turn
That slices air and
Makes my heart yearn
Full winged they land

They hop about
Peanuts they seek
I rock in my chair
With each dip of beak

When they take to flight
They carry my soul
Out of its night
Into the Light

Two finches perch on my balcony railing
They stare at me through the window
I watch, sat at my desk, as they fidget
Their tiny bodies expand with breath
Feathered bellies rise and fall
Short black talons hook around metal, clutching
Glassy black bead eyes taking in my cloudy winter blue
They stretch and shake out their wings, waiting
The birds don't know that you moved

I get your mail sometimes
I wonder who you must've been
I wonder where you are now
You must've cared about these birds, that they came back for you
It's a strange feeling, piecing together the parts of you
I know your name and your interest in fashion magazines
While you don't know that I've lived here now, too

The woman below me leaves out a flat and shallow dish on her patio
She keeps it filled to the rim with seeds and corn kernels
Squirrels and rabbits dive for it
Like a child into a pile of crispy autumn leaves
The birds take too, of course
They peck at the spill-over piles on the concrete
When I see them, I think some could be the ones that visit me often, the two
Although I know it's unlikely; there must be a thousand finches in this city
Yet, I wonder if the act at least reminds them of you

You probably get prior tenant's mail
Do you discover a story?
Or do you simply throw it out, without a glance?
Am I overthinking this?
Are these two birds just random birds, taking a rest?
Does it matter?

Two finches don't know that you moved
They perch on my balcony railing
They stare at me through the window
Black meets blue
They stretch and shake out their wings, leaving
I hope they find you

I see blue from a rooftop,  
blinded by light and laughter.  
an embrace of the sun —  
my skin, melting butter.  

through the attic window,  
weightless curtains flutter…  
and I suddenly wonder:  
what it feels like to be a bird?  

smelling air,  
its scent of lavender,  
singing the wind's song,  
unbottling memories of last summer.  

enjoying a rainbow after the thunder,  
oh, how I wonder  
what it feels like to have wings?  

and I fall asleep, lullabied into dreams  
by a gentle wind with its tune of a summer breeze.

A mythical, mystical,
    invisible and fearless..
A fire of feathers,
  born from ashes..
Able to reborn, resurrect;
Ready to defeat darkness.. 🌖
   ready to fly from ashes,☄️
      ready to shine from soul.. ✨
A spiritual healer;
  light others with
   helping, encouraging and inspiring…
Reborn with courage, strength & wisdom..
A mythical being, a phoenix bird;
  with golden feathers,
   made with strong, fire will
        and an iron soul..
It is a phoenix 🐦‍🔥,
   an inspirational bird;
     ready to fly from ashes..  🔥

Cage, cage..
  Set me free..
    And let me fly..

My wings are tied;
   When am in cage..
My dreams are shattered;
   When my boundaries are confined..

Cage, cage..
  My world is vast..
Let me spread,
    my wings of sky;
   With bountiful sweet,
       mercy of life..

Cage, cage..
  My life is not cage..
Let me breathe;
  Let me fly,
     to this limitless sky 🌌
    
Cage cage
  My life is in turmoil..
Let my fire of quest;
          turn to an eternal soul.. 🫰