Of the genesis
of birds we know nothing,save the legend they are descendedfrom reptiles: flying, snap-jaw lizardsthat have somehow taken to air.
But what does it matteranyway how they got up high. We are often far from home in a dark town, and our griefs
to translate into a language
understood by others.
But still, it is morning again, this day,
. Perhaps it isn't too late
to make a fool of yourself again.Perhaps it isn't too late
to flap your arms and cry out, to give
one more cracked
rendition of your singular, aspirant song.
Charlie Smith, Poet - Excerpted from
his poem "The Meaning of Birds" in the collection "Indistinguishable from the Darkness"