A little bird chirped (in bravado)
“your thoughts won’t
fit those folks”—
their focus is more witness than
Wonder.
I sang back to Elle
(my avian companion)
“ironic; with our sights set
on the same country,
telescopes trained on the
celestial view
wouldn’t they welcome my words?”
“Jay,” she replied, “an astute observer
is what they want,
citing signs of life in this land
at our feet
where gray reality and hard
shocks live.
“Your words are too
hopeful for them.”
Cocking my feathered head,
I wondered,
Hope-filled-too-much?
How can that be?
Nowhere to go with that dead end,
I have run out of seeds,
pecking and scratching
out this poem instead
reciting the world in song.
c. Jody Lee Collins 2016