baby birds


What good is a rock
if the people fall, if truth

remains but no one
hears the long grass

rattle, and words
burst into flame

and gas, and life
poisons itself with

greed and the deficit
of compassion.

No body exists to bury.
I am trying to return

to a place of open
mouths, of nests and

groves left standing
despite their value

to the market. Which
pocket do I empty,

what song do I leave
unsung. Tomorrow

always becomes
yesterday, and today

flakes away into chilled
ash, carried over

rooftops and clouds,
never to be seen again.


32 thoughts on “Returns

  1. What is written in stone may be history, but is it truth or revisionist? The difference between new life and death, open mouths and ash is clear to those who can read between the lines, but do they?


  2. We must learn to see “worth” in terms other than “bottom lines”…and “intelligence” must be re-defined to include the capacity for compassion and empathy. We must cease our efforts to “conquer” Nature…Nature, the very thing that sustains us.

    I adore this poem. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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