Bird’s Elegy

children
are most like birds
brothers to angels

remembering how to fly
fluttering as they should
chirping revealed in their voices

you remember of course children’s
puzzling passion: burying birds
beneath the earth preparing them

a frail cross at the head of a grave
(as if in the frozen bird’s mound they created
a sanctuary for their own bird-like spirits)

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but remember the dilated pupils
those eyes wide with grief
for the bird – then isn’t the madness

of cruelty lessened in children – and tenderness
suddenly and stealthily streams into what
we call the soul – this is the greatest moment

when an angel becomes a person –
a perfect one . . .

ask your friends then let them ask
to your amazement you will
comprehend the number

of birds’ graves filled by the hands
of children – in other words how much
tenderness should exist on earth – so tell me

where does it go? why doesn’t it grow with us?
why is it given to everyone only once
and only a handful to the soul?

so all masons that inhabit the vertebrae
stubbornly lift our bones
raising our heart higher and higher

(as if our heart could see further)

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through the years only this inconsolable sadness
limitless sadness with the eyes of children
that slips into us – slowly but steadfastly

substitutes itself for our ruined soul –
fills it and immediately reigns on its own
over our quiet hearts

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every time in testament
we leave a sadder soul

more alone more despondent
become the generations of

people
birds
trees

BIRD'S ELEGY