Here lie reminders of our wildness
hunkering beneath layers of domestication,
fearful and obedient.
Writhing and sighing.
Finite and boundless.
grasp a song,
a tender earful,
and you wonder if the neighbor has a canary.
The curved bill thrasher
can can cantar.
Trilling, leaping, joyful
I heard it while out riding my horse one day.
That’s how I know.
I thought I knew the feathered one
with the distinctive “Bird wheet! Bird wheet! Bird wheet wheet!”
as we rode by
flying filigree tumbled
on the air and in the bushes.
I was reminded of how our minds
drawing pretty picket fences around
convincing us that we know.
in solid entitled insistence,
in agreements forced and forgotten.
can appear to be discarded trash,
brilliant orange in a tide pool,
reminding you of a familiar label, perhaps?
I gently suggest we take a closer look.