it was just doing what it was supposed to be doing

the bird that woke us up at 5am
probably won’t be there
when we reach the branch.
it needs no praise.
it has sky.

not really a melody

the return of birds.
i play name a species,
a merchant dice of reconfigured diction,
wonder about dodo and feathered dinosaurs too.

it’s the collective cacophony that mutes me,
a sound  needing no name,
a mist of invisible secrets,
barely an edible grain.