Each morning in May
a small bird,
common, undistinguished,
black headed and grey
flies against the bedroom window
Again and again,
beginning his day.
Wings spread,
Resting on the sill a bit
here and there
Earnest, peering through the glass,
as if wanting
to find a way to pass
Into a place
yet unexplored.
It is strange, I think,
that he does this only
every morning
at a certain time
while I lie in bed,
watching the light
change on the hills,
clearing my head
from sleep.
It seems as if he wants
to enjoy another world
That appears unseparate
from the rest of
what he knows
yet impenetrable.
Perhaps, I speculate,
it is his morning practice
Before he starts
his work at eight.
In the evenings
In the apple trees
he sings a two note song
cheerfully for hours
telling all who have ears
that these are his grounds
for the hunting of bugs
and the enjoyment of bees.
His trees for perching
and guarding his nest
HIs place in the space
of the world
where he and his mate
feed new birds
to move through air
who knows yet where.
And there was that moment
when the sun had not yet
filled every molecule
with its warmth
that I walked out
to check the garden
and, glancing back at
that window
where this play
had just unfolded
through my window on the world
in all that changing light,
I saw instead a hole
in the face of the wall
Filled with all those apple branches
I’d been seeing from my bed
Unblossomed by late spring
Reflected now as if they grew
inside.
Just the way the bird,
I knew just then,
sees a darkened space
with a male bird
just like him,
flying through,
who must want,
he’s sure
to emerge from some other
mysterious place
and take on all
that he himself defends.
He flies at it.
As if the peace of all
depends on driving it away
but the other
just advances still
and retreats
until it, too, tires
and sinks to rest
Down upon the sill.
There is no defeat.
He does not decide
to fly away.
He must continue
‘til a human sound
from another world
so loud
drives him from the fray.
Is it just a stupid bird
whose mind is just a rudiment
of ours
or do we all
lie dreaming on one side
or another of that
mysterious space unknown
Finding impediment
to our flight
just when we thought
there would be none
As creatures of a planet
who all fly relentlessly
against illusions
until their time is spent?
Then throw the window open
And let the bird fly in
You’ll laugh out loud
To find those worlds
help separate, secret
Undefined
With wildness
Are unbound.
