Saturday, September 1, 2012

I wonder if I start to hear the birds

I wonder if I start to hear the birds
is it because they're hungry? Do the trees
have pangs for Sun and air? The open bayou
stretches to the gulf, the blue-green water
smells a certain way. The malleable ground
is pressed underneath footprints, simple flowers

lie moistened in the dew. The little flowers
are open very early, the smallest bird
lands on the porch and pecks. The rolling ground
is walked on by the cows, it's where the trees
are growing now, it's what the moving water
wanders through. The skies turning over Bayou

Gauche are changing colors, the wide bayou
is visited by egrets that stand by flowers
in the humid air. When the clouds rain water
toward the earth, I can hear several songbirds
quiet in their nests. It's the patient tree
that grows without asking to be seen, ground

assumes its role and duty. Over ground
I move my feet, three birds fly over the bayou
and land near a young calf. See how the trees
grow where the fences are? The yellow flowers
grow everywhere in spring and all the birds
come out to eat the bugs. I'm seeing water

reflecting broad blue sky, clear and still water
as mirror of the heavens. Near the ground
is where I sit, under the trees and birds
that nest in the branches. You can smell the bayou
from the tracks, on side of the road grow flowers
and weeds and thistle, the love the roots of trees

make with the earth is wet. A cypress tree
grows in a triangle, its knees in the water
of the swamp are visible, the lilies have flowers,
the iris bloom so blue. My feet hit the ground
and sink a bit, I roam the moisture of bayou
and sweat my appetite. How do the birds

sing the beauty of flowers? How does the ground
understand the trees? How does the blue water
fill the bayou and so amuse the birds?

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