Phoebe, dove, robin, wren, vireo
moist air, cloudy with fog
Bird song, the music of the forest,
a layer of sound atop the silent trees

The trees have seen it all.
They stand silent, as though to say,
let the little ones sing and die.
let the flowers bloom and wither.
Still, we stand.

Chestnut-sided warbler, titmouse, wood thrush.

The woods are newly green and bright with it.
Sky is haxed with moisture.
Colors of day dim, then fade.
Evening.

Warblers in the treetops still feel the sun's kiss. Not me.
Warblers race by me, don't stop.
I don't know who they are.
They fly. I don't.