birds
the snowbells rang the springtime through waking woods
and chime echoed beneath the bark of slumbered ages
where green the algae clung to northern faces
roots the relics of ancient circles
this was all that might be seen by blinded birds
who roll uneasy in their rhythm foot to foot
feverish in their hurry through the gates
that invention has provisioned
and who prized false gospel in the stars
and who praise the zephyr winds of change
so when great natures lips touch mine i feel
the diamond past and secrets of the woodland floods
long before the craken bark of man disturbed its
tranquil flow or damned its streams or tamed its flowers
when the whispers of alone cajoled the raucous call
of unseen shadows to vibrate among the leaves and shades
and to hunt each other away in fear or fall like might timbers
before the howling lightning folds to leave but hollows
whose cast is brutal as the sunken eyes of wilderness