Saturday, July 26, 2008


What if I opened all the windows
and all the doors

and let the birds fly in?
What if they decided not to leave

and made their nests and laid their eggs
(in defiance of my cat's predacious green stare)

on top of our bookcases?
Wouldn't the neighbors talk about

"that crazy lady with the birds"
while they flew in and out

and hatched their eggs and raised their fledglings
and flew out and in

and left their droppings all over the floor
but made the house alive with song?

Wouldn't it be exactly as if
I were a poet and I let the poems

fly in and out
and never closed the windows of my heart?

Collection available! Knocking from Inside

1 comment:

keiths ramblings said...

I was going to suggest that perhaps poems leave less mess, but if you could see the amount of screwed up paper I litter about the place when I'm composing ....point taken!