The Birds

Molly Knox

even in the moonlight  

I can hear the soulful  

peaceful tune of beaks 

craned in the trees 

crying out  

at the aching throb 

of another year. Waking  

to the humming  

rumble of the quiet unknown 

of her new life 

                       stepping back from growing pains 

cackling                     perhaps chortles?  

           Ruffling vertebra  

                           (striped feathers)  

derived from dinosaurs                knowing  

                         all through history  

                                     my somatic fears 

the chill in my throat 

Settled in the swell  

of the branches,  

as nests built to crunch 

keep watch over the slowing song 

of my lamenting dreams.