early riser

what I'm listening to: Fishin' by Luisa Marion 

silhouetted against a pearlescent sky
the swoop and the flit
the lilting whistle
and choruses of chirps
I'll never stop writing about them
their small black bodies on the wire
their conversations and the shape of their wings when they fly
how they draw us into simplicity

things matter and they don't
or rather, the wrong sort of things matter

on summer mornings, I shut my bedroom window 
to block out the sound
and I draw the curtains to block out the sun 
but lately, I am pulled outward
like the face of the blooms
are always looking toward the sun

I used to wonder how people woke up
in a history without alarm clocks
I hadn't even considered the call
that pips and pecks at my dreams
before the sun has chance to rise

there is one in the garden
pecking at my plants -
robin is always the boldest.
goldfinch feels like a treat
her tiny striking flash of yellow,
she is cautious, and precious as a gem.
starling with his metallic chirrups 
and the same nest in our gutter every spring.
cardinal loves the striped seeds from my sunflower forest
and is never without her mate
astonishing every time in his apple-red,
and the crows are complaining loudly to one another
in the crest of trees just over there
I always wonder if they recognize me,
smart as they are
if they hate me, love me, but really
any strong emotion toward me would do
making me their counterpart
and feel as if I have a place in their world
rather than the reverse,
which is that this is my world
and they have a place in it.