There is a Bird We Cannot See
There is a bird we cannot see,
Who calls out often, between treetops.
She intervenes upon the mind
In wild interrogation,
Outside words - We hear her
As daylight starts, wears on indifferently, dies out.
She asks something
In three bass notes,
A three-tone tune,
A far-west song
In afternoon, in cottonwoods.
Call it tenderness, concern,
A kind of love,
A simple sound in a big décor
Of old blue mountains.
She calls out - as we walk on - under branches,
A song against routine, the known,
Yet part of it.
She says
There is destiny in western sun,
Hopefulness manifest.
There are ways of being spoken to
And indirectly heard.
She says
We live - we choose between -
Despair and splendor -.