Bird Language


there are birds outside my window —
vultures, mourning doves, starlings, an old owl —
watching me watch them.

there are sirens in the far distance,
screeching along the muddy horizon.
fire sirens, police sirens,
sirens singing death hymns to ocean sailors.

the giggling seagulls chirp
watching the men drown.

my parents bought me a pair of black binoculars
for my thirteenth birthday,
so i could watch the giant birds
which soar close to heaven's gates.
i've used them only once.

six a.m. sunlight makes the ugly
look beautiful. i stand by my window,
probably going crazy,
because while i watch the beaked creatures
speak their sweet bird language,
i am intrigued by their conversation about me.

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