the mockingbird calls
in this carnegie hall
of sorts;
on a branch
above my lawn
the cover songs
plus, the original cuts;
waiting for the sign
the clock of the mother,
the earth aligned
we are slaves to hail the equinox
what the mock hails, I know not what,
but that bird knows the timing
far better than I
from instruments free of humanity
or clutter, the line of life is all
instincts, beyond measurement
for a bird, this simple thing
like breath
the hand hits the time
and the show begins.
(this is spring now, regardless of date, ask my friends, in the trees)

so I can share with you the genesis of this poem… I came home, as I mostly do, every day, just the other day, I stepped out of my car and heard “it”… the sound of spring, the animals clue me in, the birds mostly, they start to sing regardless of the official date of spring, so I heard that the other day, and then coming home on Saturday I was given a command performance by one little bird, sure, not for me, he or she was doing their thing regardless, but I was there, as the little bird, with no introduction, walked out on a branch and began to sing, well, not really sing, but imitate the songs of other birds in order, as mockingbirds do…it was quite amazing, I would like to think it was a performance for me, sure, why not… maybe, why not… but either way it was amazing, to see this little thing dominate the scene…. so that is what I am trying to recapture here, did I succeed ? I hope so, but if not I will try again… because… that is spring.. after all.