Monday, May 28, 2007


Title from Erin McKeown (MySpace)

I don't know the names of the birds that

wake me up with a disjointed jamboree band of

squeaks, squawks, squeals, and honks barked out

on the upper range of nature's cornets and trumpets.

But I know they hate me.

And I know their night-black feathers are an ironic joke

when the sun rises and those dark wings spread

and the birds sing, "Don't you wish it was still so dark?

Don't you wish the sun waited on you?

Don't you wish we waited, too?"

And I do.

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