I love the birds,
I love the way
they chat all through
the evening shift.
My daughter, too,
loves the birds.
I am a bird
she says to us,
and talks the way
the birdsong does:
as if it were
important not
to ever halt
the melody
which sows its end
back to its start.
There’ll be a time
all this stops;
my daughter learns
self-consciousness,
and will not say
what occurs to
her each moment.
But pauses, first,
and looks outside,
and listens as
the talking birds
gently remind.
