Of the genesis of birds we know nothing,
save the legend they are descended
from reptiles: flying, snap-jawed lizards
that have somehow taken to air.
...But what does it matter
anyway how they got up high...?
...We are often far
from home in a dark town, and our griefs
are difficult to translate into a language
understood by others.
...But still, it is morning again, this day.
In the flowering trees
the birds take up their indifferent,
elegant cries.
Look around. Perhaps it isn’t too late
to make a fool of yourself again.
Perhaps it isn’t too late
to flap your arms and cry out, to give
one more cracked rendition of your
singular, aspirant song.