Thursday, February 13, 2014

Poetry's Yellow Warbler

For Daniel Tiffany**

Unwounded, feathered, safe, it rests -- sans song,
oblivious to sky or twig with nest unknown.

Caged in my hand, the downy chick sits still --
save for a heartbeat flutter on my palm.

A tiny clockwork tick? Its shiny beak
held shut by springs or cords of sinew?

Cleverness conceived by what? My own vein
pumps its diesel behind a bloody maw,

while plush pigs fly in squadrons. Bird tilts
its head, a convex eye, (a bead of glass?),

entraps me in a conjoined stare. My hand
unfurls, starburst of finger puppetry ballet

. A wondrous bit of engineering, that.
Chick vaults and flies as chip notes soar

in throaty song of freedom. My fingers
curl again--this time around my own metallic fog.

Yeats, God and you may ponder life and toys
while I can only marvel that pigs and birds
and aeroplanes stay up at all.

Originally published in GUD Literary journal

**Daniel Tiffany is the esteemed author of "Toy Medium" - an incredible book for the thinker.

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