Existence Seems so Fast

Above small birds chirp and big ones squawk

though they can’t make the “s” sound.

Little blue ones and massive gray ones.

So instead it’s a din of guttural but how does

their gut, their collective stomach,

of shrunken former monstrosities sing in varied unison?

A cardinal is perched on a wire

where there may or may not be current running

calling to no one in particular and everyone:

“I’m here! Hello?” Tomorrow will be new

and the bird will decide not to seek for mates

nor seeds, he will leave behind his trappings

of normalcy and become a prophet.

Not sitting on an artificial line but diving

upwards while screeching into the air

so that he can rain back down in particles

of nonsense, but perhaps he’ll reach

far enough off this earth and sleep early

and never wake up again and become nothing

which is closest to joy he doesn’t think because he can’t.