one of your young, died
he was on the cold earth, motionless
his soul free now from the limitation of its earthly body soaring high
he looked perfect
no sign of attack
I could tell
I could tell you were looking for him
almost cancelling out the body on the earth near you
you didn’t want to admit it
I removed his body to a safe place, at rest
you calmed down,
almost acknowledging, accepting your lose,
knowing nothing more could be done for your son
then you, yes you mr blackbird let out a heart-wrenching lamination
you are a master listener
you hop along, you stop,
moving your head from side to side
listening, listening carefully
listening without interruption
listening beyond time
you hop again
you dive down
deep under the earth,
a wriggling worm is torn from it’s dark, moist world
I wonder what you heard mr blackbird?
do worms make a sound
or was it a vibration
maybe just a hunch
mr blackbird, how do you hear?
what do you hear?
mr blackbird you inspire me to
listen with sight,
ears and other senses.
I watched you for ages,
you were in a meditative haze,
orange beak open
body in a contorted shape,
like concord about to take off
you were resting in mid summers spotlight
shimmering in the haze like a sauna’s intense heat.
you were living firmly in he moment,
steadfast in another place,
What do you dream of mr blackbird?
mr blackbird sits precariously on his high tower, looking, sensing even knowing something is wrong
Then as if a switch is triggered he is brought to life, there is an urgency to his message, all is not well, you need to listen to me,
mr blackbird uses all his energy to proclaim this message, this message that must be heard, despite the bedraggled worn out appearance mr blackbird uses his small frame to jump up and down, flap his wings for all their might, forcing out his message, the echo of his voice reverberating across shed and greenhouse, lawn and flowerbed
This pulsating red hot message is passed on to other lookouts, there is a cacophony of noise as the message is received and re-communicated.
Then, as if the switch is turned off, peace descends to the garden, the threat has ceased, moved on yet mr blackbird know’s never to rest, next time things could be different……