the birds are loud this morning
a cacophony of disparate songs
not always easy, not always
like a pretty poem – even
the thrush is contentious



To name God is meaningless.
In all our attempts to create
we only delineate.

What we call our mind
is inextricably linked to our body.
And our body, mostly not
what we have defined as our own.

Birdsong is nothing without the air
and an ear to hear it.