The mating hues of spring are faded, dull
and songs of sex and territory, heard
all spring, are still. We listen for a word,
a glandic utterance, a syllable
in biochemic tongue. The tidal pull
of winter hormones, rising in the third
part of the year, makes every migrant bird
tilt southward. Compass spins in feathered skull.
The brilliant, noisy chemistry of spring—
the plumage-flash and challenge-calls of May—
transforms to bear the needs of traveling:
a darker eye looks on the shortened day,
a subtle plumage, stronger on the wing
bears spring's carilloners their winter way.
Collection available! Knocking from Inside
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Fall Warblers
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1 comment:
Tiel, this is so beautiful. It's hard to believe the birds will be migrating soon enough. Where does the time go? Well done. Have a nice day.
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