Canary Monologue
I often have time away from your hands
to sit by the brook and babble to stones
looking back at me with dispassionate
curiosity.
Today the trickle is rather dull.
A stagnating conversation of small
sonar pings between pebbles
pale as the song of this meadow
caught in my throat. Muse, take me
with you when you drift past
ordinary. Show me legends stacked like
firefly colonies thick as the labyrinth above -
black as the graphite that weaves between
green rain and grenades, the erotic left and
the benign right - to where the canto shimmies
and even a bird with weak wings
can pierce the sky.