Oct 27, 2023
I know you, passerine—I feel you pull on that invisible string tied around my eye socket as you skip from one place to another; as you flit over, through the evening to the morning; as you dart, cross, and crisscross the circles I traced thoughtlessly, carelessly in my youth.
I’ve listened to two hundred and forty three out of your four hundred voices: the whistle off the tip of that old cypress before it had to come down; the mocking tune at the dogs who cannot bark you off the apple tree; the calling back a car alarm like a cover.
Go on and have your passage. I am sorry if I’ve been an anchor. I wanted to be pulled along; I didn’t mean to hold you.