Birdsong. Oboe’s
Breath. Wind in the eaves, voice
Of the sparrow someone says
Is five notes I can’t count. Does
The mind breathe or
My lungs. Throb or
Heart, awash. Electric,
Stricken, it casts
Itself at the air. Beats
And will not
Fly. Wherever might
It go? Dreaming mind caught
Again in the leaves.
Don’t look down, I know, keep
Paddling, feeling
Pulse as glee. Moonlight too
Is all the moon’s
Sleight of hand, its sly
Deception. A window. Eye
Falls on me.