Whether you see or don’t see
A Baltimore Oriole sounds occasionally
Like the door to a cellar
Where sometimes a child
Might hide or having
Once been in love
A man may bury love letters
For the cries of birds
Are not what we suppose.
What ails you
Can be greenery though
You’re defended
Overtly happy
Spring has come
So who’d imagine
A whistling bird
Or two building
Their hanging nest
Can stir up
A ghost from boyhood
A hospital room
A window half opened
An echo
From treetops
That wasn’t ever meant for you?
Planet of the Blind 