Birds Again

    A secret came a week ago though I already

    knew it just beyond the bruised lips of consciousness.

    The very alive souls of thirty-five hundred dead birds

    are harbored in my body. It's not uncomfortable.

    I'm only temporary habitat for these not-quite-

    weightless creatures. I offered a wordless invitation

    and now they're roosting within me， recalling

    how I had watched them at night

    in fall and spring passing across earth moons，

    little clouds of black confetti， chattering and singing

    on their way north or south. Now in my dreams

    I see from the air the rumpled green and beige，

    the watery face of earth as if they're carrying

    me rather than me carrying them. Next winter

    I'll release them near the estuary west of Alvarado

    and south of Veracruz. I can see them perching

    on undiscovered Olmec heads. We'll say goodbye

    and I'll return my dreams to earth.