In the beginning was a trill.
that didn't quite belong
to the silence enshrouding the night.

then another, as if in reply.
then a tweet, a trill, a tweet again.
a chirp this time, replied with another,
as the chorus grew.
(Arise oh Lion among men!
Perform your Divine duties!
The eastern sky has begun to blossom,
O great son of Kausalya!)

a  pair of ears,
a  pair of eyes,
then the rest of him
was born again
in the darkness

and he knew he was both
the prince and the ten-headed one
and many others besides,
witnessing his very own fantasy,
his fear, his shame,
his throbbing lust,
seemingly anachronistic
in the gray morning.
and suddenly remembering
yesterday's sums
and its remainders,
it's untotalled accounts.

he now knew
the always new harmony
of trills and tweets
from a million eons.
he'd been witness
to so much birdsong,
to countless metamorphoses;
some noisy, most silent,
like gray turning pink-orange-golden
like friend-turning-foe
dimple-turning-wrinkle...

for one more time,
he was here and now again
before fading
into the twilight haze
of a stolen snooze.