bird listening


in the predawn light,
it’s just me, these quilts, 
and the morning birdsong.
do they sing for each other?

I listen, deciphering notes.
a melody becomes clear, 
and then there’s the lyrics:
chirping-pshhhhing-pewing lyrics.

as if I spoke bird,
I recognize them instantly,
coming from the winter wren
outside my bedroom window. 

its song is a love song. 
can’t you hear it? 
it’s the same one I sing, alone,
in this predawn light.