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Wednesday, August 04, 2004

Poem - Behind me You Sing

When the beats of your words
and the chirps of bird song are
synchronized or syncopated I see
your wings -- long, sleek; each
feather perfect like the raptors.

In that instant I can understand
chickadean, bluejayish, or blackbirdese.
Melody becomes dialogue. They know
the words to the cannon of human song
and they sing them all at once; a cacophony of
experience in a few notes, sung plainly.

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