the bird (Sept 2010)

13 Nov

My perch beside the window ledge
my mind leans out

comforted by the drizzle on roof
next to me, I open the window
it does not touch me, the rain

the rain comforting solitude and
  a bird arrives, bidden by my love
   of this view, it’s raining she peeps

it is raining I answer, does it bother you?

There’s guttering on the veranda roof
that collects
what the rain forgets.
It is a bath of exaggerated longing

for a bird, the loyalty in her pleasure who,
  holding her breath, chest forward, dips and
   dips like an early morning river

that portends a village’s entire existence
for cleansing and collecting and
carrying to the other side
of life. And a man, earlier than the rest
splashes great sprays of water over himself

over himself, his long hair flicking back
  like a bird’s
   wing dispelling water into the air

My finest observation of your small immaculate life

Earth, water and air are all your elements, it is not
  your destiny to live in the fire
   of my domestic yard mind

for that would surely stop your heart
from knowing how to fly or bath or sing or leave
  (is that you falling from the sky?)

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