I was about to accuse you
of silence again this morning
as the sun rose
and the birds sang all around;
sitting sullen and dark
of shadowy visions
and unreconciled yesterdays.
I was just about
to borrow the words
of the cross,
the ones about forsakenness,
and place them on my lips and tongue
when five kites in tight formation
rose suddenly and silently
across the sky above me;
and then the long-tailed parakeet
struggled by, waving as he went,
and then I noticed
the sparrow tracing the rooftop.
I really was just about
to complain to you again
about another colorless morning
when that dang kingfisher
(you know the one,
all blue and green with that scarlet beak)
interrupted from my neighbor’s
rooftop pulpit. And she spoke
some hidden words just for me.