poetry & things

The first bird

Early, this silent earth

in the stillness before sound comes

before the sky, the narrow line of light that forms

my ears not yet attuned to this world

search for noise, waiting for the first bird

then soon a chiming bell of birds

a cactus wren that comes to drink of sun

or deeply sweet, the air with mourning doves

that woo and coo before the dawn

a soothing balm, a bliss that fills my head

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