her love is for the birds
lost messengers
missing magnetite
searching true north
in the dead of night
the wild canaries
a shock of yellow madness
in dirty skies, dim dreams
of home and stratus
mockingbirds who sing
when they should sleep
who do not listen
when they speak
her love is for the birds
red-winged ancestor migrants
cornucopia feathered pheasants
a rainbow mud mess
father field dressed
robin mothers
blue jay brothers
her reflection
in the seared dark
iridescence
of crows
her love is for the birds
mary’s geese calling soft and harsh
in rush hour traffic
reminding her she was made
for more than static
his love is for the trees
red sugar maples
who bleed leaves
for his feet
red oak on the hill
shares his blood
and his will
in its bones and its root
a legacy to be born
the promise of white oak
in the death of an acorn
her love is for the birds
the birds are for the trees
the birds with the leaves are leaving
but your love is waiting
~A.M. Troester, For the Birds (Soul Soot Poetry)
