The notes that the bird leaves upon the air

The notes that the bird leaves upon the air
still early. The Sun above east awakes
the blue jays, cardinals, all manner of
articulated song. The maple sees

the new day, feels the dew evaporate
from her surfaces. I count the simple tones
they make, try to map where the calls come from
in the disparate trees about me. I

roll in the shadows of the oak outside
remembering the verse of Shakespeare. When
her eyelids open and I see the color

of her iris, I lose all the words
I dreamt of in the night, the ones I thought
would bring me rest in her beginning day.