between the rushing crescendo
����������������& decrescendo
of wind, I hear birds on boughs calling
��������mama mama
��������������������������mama !
my own hallucinations resonate
with the day�s responsibilities, not hearing

the birds� busy season � boys finding girls, girls
filling the nest before summer�s heat
����collapses them
����������into fixed geo
������������metric pat-
��������������terns

the roar is stronger now, calling pamela
����pam
���������pam���PAM
�������������triggering a reflex dance
����below a sky turned gray
����������������������������over saffron


before birds swallowed the essence of my belly
- when I still opened out to a fan�s breeze -
before swirls of thick shade
����meant an opening not an end,

the wise toad made a green pavement
of round water bubbles, my steady breath
������caught above reed-pipes
in captions more solid than the smooth
����river stones beneath my feet

now as movement turns footing to sand
���& bathes my body in the hoots
��������of secluded owls,
I am inflated again by prehistoric winds,
laden lightly with the womb of the moon


�2005 by PJ Nights