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The early blackbird

A blackbird has been sitting outside the window
for some time this morning, and
I’m trying to tune in to its blackbird thoughts,
if indeed it’s burdened with such tiresome
delaying tactics to action…

it seems indecisive, though; evidently, plumply,
having well breakfasted; does
the head switching left, right,
a little slower than with alarm,
signify some Hamlet thought?

it could be wondering, if,
in view of what a blackbird would call
global warming rather than
an early summer,

it should sing?

since the early bird, it must have been
taught, or intuited, catches the first mate..

I try looking at it severe of mind,
as mindless tool of Evolution
(and yes, me too…)
only concerned with food and sex
and sex and food,
and other internet concerns
in cyber blackbird space…

but that goes nowhere in the mind..
I open the front door a crack,
whistle a poor imitation of a blackbird’s song;
it twists its head for a moment
as of impatience at some irrelevant comment;
flies off; returns; like I do, when
I’ve lost the train of thought
that sent me somewhere in the house
but have forgotten what it was…

I’ll keep an eye out for it tomorrow…
and turn back to the computer,
remembering Nicholas of Cusa
who says, there is no other:
always, we are looking
at the face of God…

poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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