 | Late in the night,
above the urban drawl,
a song summons me
from quiet black sleep,
a voice percussive and shrill
like a lucid, drunk piccolo.
A mockingbird sings—
the very one that sang reveille,
that bright but eerie solo.
The sound penetrates
like a sub-zero wind,
now transposing to a voice
I comprehend.
"Imagine the earth without bird-song.
Gone from dawn to dusk to dawn,
mute forever."
Alarms peal,
the atmosphere shudders
and gags
with the grate, scrape, shred,
buzz, roar, crash, reel,
rivet, crash, grind, howl,
crush
of human progress.
The trees weep their leaves,
casting spiny, startled shadows;
keening
for the cadent chirp, chatter, chime,
whistle, warble, trill,
tweet, twitter,
kiss and coo
of musical nature conversing
as she alights
to praise being.
Debra Josephson, original verse written around 1996
and revised ever-after.
Submitted by admin on 23 May 2008 - 3:52pm. |
