That's just the way it is.
A bird calls and the bark
doesn't answer, the tree
is finally blank and willing to gain
whatever comes and the bird
listens in its chirping
notes, beckoning the motion
towards while waiting.


I wait too.
I can be the bird but it is
an action less than myself.


Who do I turn to?


When the bird landed it moved
into and through the wait
to landing, quiet
and hopeful.  It didn't turn
its head to listen but sang
out.  Drowning the animation of the answer


until the turn
of the head and answer landed beside
the twittering orphan
as answers have to me, dead to anything
but the truth, bold and careless,
when laid blank in suspended animation.