Mockingbird III
Songs, returned
to their space
within the sphere of
movement, the patterns inscribed
as if to touch the face of every
wind: here one moment, then
gone. This quickness delights us.
How, then, do we so often forget
those things we share? Night
comes and goes to another’s
phrase, yet each note is so precisely
placed, so carefully rendered
that we hear only the voice, not its source.
* * *
Another piece from the 80s. This first appeared here in March 2015, and would likely be a much longer poem if I were to write it today.
O at the Edges 
Fascinating how individual writing styles evolve … choices responding to changing surroundings and to an inner editor gently nudging …
Wish I had writings from the ’80s!
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It is fascinating to consider the evolution. Many of the same concerns remain, but circumstances (maturation, living, etc.) have certainly changed responses and even the ways of observation.
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Oh, to consider how we grow and evolve, but don’t listen to me, listen to the hummingbird
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Hummingbirds know! As does Leonard.
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I love your symbolic mockingbird Robert. Breathtaking and heartwarming.
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Mockingbirds are dear to me.
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Gorgeous poem honey.
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Thanks very much.
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