It’s been a little while since I shared some bummer bird poetry. This one has the marvelous distinction of having been broadcast into a dark Scottish forest. My other poems are still a little jealous.
Window: White Pine I. Chaos in the predawn dark— starlings scream II. Robbing the open pinecone, rewarded again and again—chickadee III. The jay’s alarm— Stranger! Stranger! Stranger!— swallowed by the wind IV. Streetlight caught in the raindrops caught in the orb weaver’s web V. The owl arrives soundlessly. The night holds its breath. VI. i haven’t been outside since it happened
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Photograph: Tyler Jamieson via Unsplash. This poem was previously published in SPROUT: The Nature of Cities and, as mentioned, read to the trees.
Yes! Sad but lovely.
Thank you, Greg. That’s exactly what I was going for.