Birds Again

    A secret came a week ago though I already

    knew it just beyond the bruised¹ lips of consciousness.

    The very alive souls of thirty-five hundred dead birds

    are harbored in my body. It's not uncomfortable.

    I'm only temporary habitat for these not-quite-

    weightless creatures. I offered a wordless invitation

    and now they're roosting within me， recalling

    how I had watched them at night

    in fall and spring passing across earth moons，

    little clouds of black confetti， chattering² and singing

    on their way north or south. Now in my dreams

    I see from the air the rumpled³ green and beige，

    the watery⁴ face of earth as if they're carrying

    me rather than me carrying them. Next winter

    I'll release them near the estuary⁵ west of Alvarado

    and south of Veracruz. I can see them perching

    on undiscovered Olmec heads. We'll say goodbye

    and I'll return my dreams to earth.