Warbling Before Breakfast

By Roy Doughty
Written 12/06/06

The edge keeps moving outward and the people
Whom time and place have formed,
So that they seemed different from ourselves,
Lighter or darker or speaking another tongue,
Are brought into that intimate sphere
Where music rises, their voices weaving wonderful
Polyphonies, meldings of resonance and light
As of the starry flags of breeze-stirred leaves,
Or of the ruffled skin of water.  The walls of sight,
The fortress of the ear, give way to channels
Of a special sense, whose effluent is bliss.
It was not always so.  Once, everyone was Other,
And the Other plagued us.  But now the peaceful
Apocalypse moves through this man’s, this woman’s eyes,
And tells us of that special, beautiful secret
Revealed each dawn in the language of the birds.

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