Pajaritos

They’ve got a lot to say.
Oh how they give me hope,
For they are made of feathers
And they remind me of
Dickinson and Oliver
And that fluttering is possible.

They chirp and chirp and sing.
Shee-sheet, little guy, shee-sheet.
I know you mean something.
I know you call with meaning and free will.
I knew it the moment your fellow
(he is also made of feathers)

Left you perched behind
(he fluttered; it is possible)
And you quieted down,
Like I do in the evenings
And the middle times.
(the wind itself runs from his down)

What deep silence! That pause!
With it you showed your hand.
That break has salient lead:
Your song is with a cause.
Pee-tee-twee, tiny thing, pee-tee-twee
I try to touch; but you flee.

Take it with you, mystic thing,
The secret from your beak.
Oh how I wish that I could reach,
Hold you, hear your chirping think.
Please I beg you, little bird, preach
What’s it that you mean?

The mysteries are unimaginable.
You neither fear God nor you scorn him.
You just flutter (it is possible)
And you chirp, pee-tee-weet.
For that’s your part, it is flowing.
And I have my own, it is not knowing.