birds

even in jersey city

the birds don't let me sleep too late.

I'm not sure where they stay most of the time, or even where they sit now. But they're there. Filling the air with chatter. Mindful or brainless makes no matter. It makes me rise and smile.

Some days I feel like my "Auntie Barbara" who I hardly remember. Why? Well, she had this odd habit of getting up early and singing "What a beautiful MOrning / What a beautiful day."

I always thought her insufferable.
Who could argue in light of the birds?

The birds are everywhere. No matter where I'm traveling, or where I wake, the birds are there. If I listen closely while I sleep, there is no other sound like them. I wake when they wake when the earth rotates.

Maybe they're the ones who twist it, those birds. Sheer force of bird-brained will and desire. Push. Push. Pull, Flap. Turn turn, Turn the Blue-Green Ball. Maybe that's all the chirps mean.

Must be time for me to help.

Up again feet, legs, hips.
Up again hands, arms shoulders.
Up again Up again body and head.

Turn and Turn the globe.