Wild Bird
A wild bird has built
her nest in my heart.
Her blood-beat
flutters new rhythms.
Birdsong streams
sunlight in my pulse.
Afloat I knew the sea-
surge lift and pull.
Now hot blood rises
with the sun and sets
with this glorious fall
from heaven to earth:
sweet helter-skelter
glide of current and cloud.
Hair is to head
as feather is to nest.
The egg of my skull
shows hairline cracks:
tiny beaks pecking
fine-tuned sparks of song.
rogermoorepoet 
The egg of my skull
shows hairline cracks:
tiny beaks pecking
fine-tuned sparks of song.
I love birds anyway, but this piece offers a unique and beautiful perspective on the theme!
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So glad you like it, Tanya. It’s part of my new version of All About Angels. I have nearly finished AAA and I am very pleased with it.
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As for the photo: a Great Blue Heron flew over the backyard about a month ago. I have another picture of him roosting in a backyard tree. He looks so out of place. We don’t often see them round here; they’re much more common on the coast.
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At least you still have hair to build in!! (<:
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That’s very true. My father’s side of the family all kept their hair ‘in the right place’ as he used to say. Luckily, I follow them.
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I am afraid I am from the other side of your family!!
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The rugby team I coached thirty years ago (unbeaten in 1985 and 1986) will be inducted into the local Sports Hall of Fame in two weeks time. It will be interesting to see them, thirty years on. Some of them were thinning back then … I wonder how much damage these thirty years have done. I know the pain they have inflicted on me! The twenty year olds will be fifty now … dear Lord … I can’t imagine …
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Sounds like we are getting old!!
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