there are songs
in the anger
of the waves
upon the rocks
and the tearing
of the wind
through the long grass
in the plotting
of the clouds
gathering low
in the sky
and
in the droplets
whispering
upon the page

this same robin
has visited
every day
for the past week
watching
as I work
curiosity
fearlessness
bringing him
closer
and closer
enough for me
to identify
the glowing colour
of his breast
the ruffled feathers
of his crown
and his gentle
inquisitive conversation
as he inspects
the freshly turned soil

i respond
to his chatter
knowing
   not caring
that neither
   understands
      the other;
there is something
in his presence
that outweighs
the need
for answers

when I hear you
say my name
I feel like jumping
over all words
to hold you close