The Nightingales Of Platres 2
Explode into the air and ferry back
home to the dark hill-forests
beaks full of mortar to shore up their nests,
patching up gaps and fissurings
worn there by the weather, where the moon shone through,
and so, so burdened, shuttled to and fro
threshing the night air with their blunt wings-
their masonry a cause for celebration
though some would claim it merely love's elation
that made them whistle, toot, bray, invisibly;
mew, shoot songs from the splays of crofts
in wild runs and eerie scales, aloft;
arpeggios trill and antiphons, quite manically,
acciaturas equally as frantically
whether you heard reclined
head bent back against the stead
marvelling, half-asleep, upwound
in an unwinding sheet, or whether, instead,
you heard them singing at your high-swept windowsill-
sound drizzling down through you brain's tremendous sky
like the lit trails of fireworks that stain
the sidereal dome and, in the river, disappearing, die,
they sang the same, but kept invisible,
knowing perhaps, you'd hear them best, unseen
or liklier still, they couldn't care less-
wholly oblivious
to how you heard their songs or if you did at all.
So long as...
poem by Morgan Michaels
Added by Poetry Lover
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