02-10-2017, 08:41 AM
The bird sat on a branch, its color black
dotted with white spots, carrying a worm,
against it a backdrop of bees did swarm.
the struggle of life under the noon sky
a worm ingested, while the bees did fly,
battles begun and battles lost to time.
it was a microscopic play, a dream
a pinhole in fabric, the cosmic seam
the subatomic kind, a pantomime.
What did the bird know of hunger, of want?
or was instinct its doubloon, guide of ships
when summer suns rise, and the cold moon dips
how the bird’s beak, magnetized to the prey,
proof of mechanical, puppet display.
dotted with white spots, carrying a worm,
against it a backdrop of bees did swarm.
the struggle of life under the noon sky
a worm ingested, while the bees did fly,
battles begun and battles lost to time.
it was a microscopic play, a dream
a pinhole in fabric, the cosmic seam
the subatomic kind, a pantomime.
What did the bird know of hunger, of want?
or was instinct its doubloon, guide of ships
when summer suns rise, and the cold moon dips
how the bird’s beak, magnetized to the prey,
proof of mechanical, puppet display.