‘Be’ and ‘Birdsong’

‘My heart hears and keeps the beat / to the song of birds’


Time yawns like the spring bud,
honeyed eyes wake and emerge
from breathing verdant blurs,
the air whirrs words
wrought from wings
as atoms hum together
and tumbling pollen
vibrate upon petal drums
beating moments into wind.
Now exists in echoes of a thing
long since flown to flower new.


To a hearing heart
a terrifying silence looms immortally
and sucks sunlight from the room.
Simple signs for molten meanings
are perished or flowered in the mind
to fill the dusty din of nothing
with a wonderful something.

My heart hears and keeps the beat
to the song of birds.

By song of thrush in canopy
the dawn is woken, stirring
starlight with leaf and bough,
spilling fire amidst
the amethyst pool of space,
stars as smithereens
with each melody
to a hearing heart.

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