Bird Waking

Some birds, without a doubt, learn singing through a silty mist, daybreak threads; the dappled tone,crescendo with softness. From need of shelter above mere trees, plunging exams of air, they deflate their beaks, noted like plants arriving, to ask timefold moments; a contact of both feathered winds, lowering chokes from nature’s have, knocking light’s coals, a hue you’ve shaped, who remains, dancing wasted paralleling grass.

Yet they remain small, a wonderspassing glance, even sometimes those there, needs the legacies of tree, waving at them; as holds questions,
each adamant once formed, upon such distance, recollected—and weave, to the dew of beginnings.

• Marianne Moore