The birds are on the wire again
Huddled down in dotted rows
Their presence shows me winter wanes
As despite the chill they bounce and chirp
Not quite music from their not quite mouths
They are the growing season, agents of renewal
And the sun with which they rise
Wakes me to remind of happy chance
Of loving you yet hoping you gone

The birds are on the wire again
The familiar trembling polychrome
Of life arranged on avian scales
And though these notes burst forth
In signatures of feathered time
So that my ears can nearly grasp
I am unable to name their song