Skies
charged
with notes
come alive
as nature's choral
sits aloft in tree branch risers
or balances on
telephone
wire
shaped
lounge.

Song
birds
warble,
light up my
dark gloomy mornings,
revere the coming of fated
endings, herald new
beginnings
always
high
up.

I
look
over
my shoulder
at Bodga Bay
to listen, amused, at endless
aviary tunes weary of
Hitchcock's crows,
ravens,
swarming
flocks of
wild
birds.