Dawn before Dawn Con/Jur/d, 4/19/2023 Not a choice, still more than how it looks to your eye sounds to your ear, since they’re rearranged for a simian framework Sure, Spring is an excuse the birds are too loud, too shrill Do you remember that time? In the tent? Too dark to see colors hungover, no part of who we were remaining body and blanket one, soft corners, thirsty Defined by the chorus of birds, nesting in our our chest cavity, between what we’ll call provisionally ribs, low notes twitching poorly danced toes, high notes as not-yet- defined- headache, we knew with clawed certainties how it is to be dead or one with or an absence of, aren’t you glad we didn’t just leave on a trill? Not a caw, traditionally chanted after If we had, we wouldn’t have gotten to know each other the domesticated us, wilderness flitting behind pulled curtains and we wouldn’t awake before dawn The dawn before dawn Amid avian riots, singing reminders of truths long forgotten But if we’d left then, you’d hear us now Spread thin sure, mostly unheard scales above soprano or below bass a distinct complaint among many, saying “Life is short this moment is long why do you sleep when this arising promises everything, And more.”
Enough for now
Much love,
Con/Jur/d, 4/19/2023
Explaining why he was full of beans and keen that we should join in a grand romp at 5 a.m. on summer mornings, our younger son would explain he couldn't sleep because "the birds are shouting".