every eon arous’d I become by a stranger’s sensual embrace till I cry aloud a joyful cry and spew forth my eggs of liquid fire and ash to mingle with the suitors of land and sky and sea that my evolving world might endure not only to join Time but Her for some to really feel
mid morn—
kitchen window opens its eyes—
charming our nest into song frenzy—
front door reveals a friend
trying to mimic our chirp—
“Morning, pretty birds!”
our hearts beat past our wings
as wild seed fills our aerial bowl
and garnishes the feet of our tree—
“Enjoy, pretty birds!”
once again so good be life—
‘tis breakfast in Vale of Spring