avian fabrication

avian fabrication
april 2022, riverside

An avian fab nab by Weathercat Productions

when you start
watching the birds,
wherever you see them,
they will let you see
more of them, as though
you never really had,
whatever you thought
you saw, nothing more
than an idea of them,
a cave shadow,
until you start
watching the birds,
seeing them in air you
will see the hang
of their body buoyed
between wings, shag
gull, startling, plover,
will see the wings
move in styles apart
from kind to kind,
the birds will pause closer
to you in standing, hover
over you, as if they are
pulled to watching you,
as if there’s a
a magic you think
you’ve mastered,
that holds them back
from the normal fear
of the human, they will
start dropping feathers
round you like gestures of
elegance groomed sleek as silk,
as if woven from keratin and
prism, the black and the
whites cleaned off the dawn’s
horizon, you will feel them
slip and prance upward
on a breeze, feel their
yodel and yaw on the
wing in a gale, know
their eyes like stones
polishing brightnesses
under stream water,
their cries a punctuation
into the unbroken now,
sentences confounding
the clock, a measure not on
any score, they will entrust
their dying to you, you will
lay the ones you find head
on grass, the inward folded
harp of wing never to be
played in winds and
airs again,
you will lay them
hidden under leaves…

when you
of simple time
see them of
no time but
in it,
you will
know yourself
a passing

Copyright ©2022 Peter Le Baige.  All Rights Reserved

A Doric-style reading of the poem is appended here below, without bells, without whistles, and even without cats….

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