It is a magnificent, impersonal morning;
Mountains like huskies ready for an order,
Blue sky, so deep and enormous
That I am glad to have a symbol to
Roll around my mouth and render it
Approachable: Sky, sky, sky, sky.
I say the word, I speak the gentle lie:
Sky. To know it I would die,
And I am teetering, this morning,
In the celestial grandeur, the light,
In which, my plans for breakfast and
Zoom, seem laughable, undoable.
I meet a crisis. I need to go from
Three to Four, and I am stuck.
Then I hear two birds speaking,
Singing. I stop and listen, I hear them
Calling back and forth, mirroring
Each other, as if it is a game.
One splits the last note into three,
Unexpectedly, my heart surges at the gift,
Now, the other will other reply,
There is a silence, an extra beat,
The extra notes have caused confusion,
A sound comes, but the new notes go unsung!
Ah, a selfish bird, the game was about to fly!
Maybe it was scared it wouldn't match up?
It was something, something small enough
For me to recognise and I smile, the world,
My breakfast and my work come into view.
I heard the beat that falls before notes unsung,
And the little virtuoso that gave and didn't receive,
Oh, my loves, I know you so well, you are in me,
Under my sky, with my huskies, I am in Four,
The joyous, faltering birds opened the door.
