A proud mother's push
Wings spreading to catch the breeze,
a baby grounded

goldfinches and chickadees
cinched on branches
chirping up the trees
do they sing this song for themselves
to feel at ease
or is it to be heard
for the betterment of humanity

when I write in the dead of night
what is it for?

I despise this species
I envy this species
How they can fly high
Fly high in the sky
They seem so free
Why can't I be like thee?

I'm a bird trapped inside a small cage
Waiting to get out
Society's standards are like the cage
I can't bend them or else others will not like me
But if I do bend thee
I'll get a taste of freedom
With sour consequences on the side
The rules I have to abide
Now I'm stuck in between the lines of the cage
Where they bind
My freedom
As I watch other birds
Fly high in the air
Without a care

Mourning doves outside
Singing to partners unknown
Echo in twilight

The crow in the tree
    is actually
a black trash bag.

Squeaky bike brakes
      sound like chirping
September crickets.

The bug on the sidewalk
     casts a long shadow:
September sunshine.

I open the front door:
     a fly I didn't know
about flies out.

I wonder what the birds think
As they fly about
Food, water, predators?
Or maybe not much at all
Maybe they think of nests and trees
Or they think of the kind human
Who sprinkled some seeds by the bench
They may remember bad times too
When they were shoo’d away
Or when rocks were thrown at them
Or maybe they don’t think of much at all
And maybe we don’t have to think of much at all
Like the birds
As they fly about

Under fluttering

I walk on a thick carpet --


of dried guano.

An egg in the tree

axil, a feather comes out --


then: a singing bird.

i hear
the birds fly
overhead,
their chirps, squeaks
and squawks
inviting me
outside
to join the
morning party.