Gill Horitz
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Birdsong
Like being summoned I hurry to the window and in the one tree, so close
it almost touches the glass - the bird,
dove-grey in early light, its little mouth
turning the air with a five-boned tongue,
into a song. And as it sings, along the street
to right and left, the windows gleam and quiver,
and the roofs of the parked cars reflect
its shivery brilliance. Under my feet
the parquet vibrates, and the whole house
moves as the nameless bird returns to earth
what keeps getting lost, a particular thing
to belong to: song, very old and invisible,
which brings to mind every morning, a reminder
of something small but expressible.
Published in Words for the Wild – poetry and short fiction rooted in the countrysideEdited by Amanda Oosthusizen and Louise Taylor (2018)
ISBN 978-1-5272-2382-0