Morning Music

By Roy Doughty
Written 4/28/07

It was a blue bird that sat in the top of a red tree.
His tail bobbled up and down as he squawked
And the midmorning air was hot.  The sky was white.
Little clicking sounds nicked the air from unseen
Insects hidden in the foliage, and old thoughts,
Desires whose colossal and ancient edifices
We have inhabited for many millennia
Began to creak dangerously in preparation —
In preparation for what?  A collapse?
A disintegration?  A powdering of steel
And concrete into the microdust of white skies
Where a blue bird sits in the top of a red tree,
Etcetera, and squawks of a new day
Being born right out of the slippery egg
Of the old one?  The air is warm, but a slight breeze
Cools us as we sit in the new world,
Happy amidst the swirl of wings
And the clicking sounds of millions of hidden angels.

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