The mist of night still lingers
Hugging close to the ground
Slinking along on it's belly
Muting, all of dawn's sounds

A faint little scratching and rustle
The shake of leaves on a tree
Announce the waking of squirrels
Come to look down on me

A long and then two short whistles
A bird I've never seen
I do a pretty good mocking
He answers through the green

While I play this musical game
The sun crept over the hill
I didn't get to see my bird
I guess I never will

High up in the sky
I am born.
Misty convections of humidity,
The womb in which I formed.
Pressure changes squeeze and push,
Heralding my birth.
Then the moment!
I am falling into the world
Full of cold light and the rumble
Of my mother’s screams.
Down
Down
Down
I fall.
Living my life in the span
Of a moment.
Splat!
My body bursts
Wetly apart on the hard earth.
My life ebbs into a larger body,
Nourishing and cooling.
Down on the ground,
I die.

I'm as done
as burnt ribs on a grill
forgotten under the sun
in love and war no one wins.

When an idiot tries to break you,
attempts to crush your spirit,
tells you you're no good
under the moon or sun, hold fast.

If you're broken under the hood,
feel unimportant in life,
know you're doing your best
though imperfectly, stay true to you.

An idiot who acts bipolar, spread lies
needs to be struck by lightening
then hung from a tree
by that lying, forked tongue.

The sun squints through the distant trees,
morning? evening? doesn't matter,
as a light wind lends its cool soft tease
and far limbs make the sun light scatter.

I could be on my old back deck
or on a stand in forest,deep
listening to woodpeckers peck
as the shadows slowly creep.

For this is that magic time of change,
not quite day and not quite night,
a time a lot of folks think strange
when, somehow, all the rules take flight.