For The Birds
I promised something uplifting as an antidote to my “Conject 2025” piece from last week.
He talked to birds when his words wouldn't rhyme and he couldn't make love to his woman He talked to birds when his brush wouldn't paint and was dismissed from the lives of his children He talked to birds when his eyes couldn't focus and his mind was forsaking his heart He talked to birds when his soul measured empty and he didn't know why he held on The birds talk to him while he sits by the river praying to be cleansed of his sins The birds warble to him while he’s swallowed in muck sure that he'll stay there forever The birds play with him while they’re preening about posing for the lens of his camera The birds sit for him while colors hug canvas and brushes dance in the breeze The birds chirp for him while words flow from his fingers filling his pages with wisdom The birds fly home with him to his woman and kids nesting on the sill of his window He sings with the birds when he brims with relief thanking the spirits for healing