Soul Soot Poetry

#poetry, #prose

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


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)

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