sometimes,
The time it takes
to curate a reality
Where
The eyes of a hostile reflection
Don't contribute to, but consume-
the moment's prison of littleness...
Is it not possible?
To escape eternity's hour's ceaselessness?
Hope,
is too short;

we perpetuate-
it takes shape.
we preform,
then placate.

blessed i am
to wake surrounded
by bird songs multifarious
each with their signature calls
saying ...

where’s my mate
we need to perpetuate

driven by nature’s code
keeping within my mode
where’s my mate
we need to perpetuate

alive and in my prime
now is our time
where’s my mate
we need to perpetuate

i’m looking to find
a lover of my kind
where’s my mate
we need to perpetuate

joyous chirping, tweeting, whistling
warbling, crowing and wooing
in a chorus of overtures
invitations to the nub of life,
procreation