Bird of Blue and Black
Bird of blue and black
beak dipped to the feeder on the deck:
The mountain is shrouded
in sun and snow.
You have mined my body of seeds
for treasure and for sustenance,
flicking away the shells with your
I am the feeder;
am shrouded in sun and snow;
am the wind which blows you from
your feast and lifts you to mountains
new and far, deserts of sands
in piled shapes you will
not describe to me, smog and cities
that shall remain unnamed
where they fall into that final ebb
of waving sea.
But all is me.
So do not tell me these things,
bird of blue and black,
nor snap your greedy wings or beak.
(For I am the seeds of a mountain
the dunes you drive past
the smog over the County
the rush of salted water like tears.)
What is light is light and not is not,
shrouded both in sun and snow.
And you are flown;
the feeder empty.