Henge Bird
I hear the name
of the Great Auk
and I fly away
to a cold, lively sea
seething with fish
and selkie kind
There on an isle
a bit of stone
in the Herbrides
'neath the shadow
of a pagan henge
The flightless bird
the last Great Auk
soared, now gone
to a sea in the sky.
The Songs of Hollow Birds
It is a legend told
by the Henge bird
the lost Great Auk
of a bird carved
from the dead heart
of sea bleached pine
It was a marvel
to behold, to hear
a song without soul
music without mind
it mimicked them
as it mocked them
an echo of the lullaby
a precious selkie round
But it was not the voice
of the gannet nor tern,
it was berift of a truth
a drum of blood and sea
it was empty, like the voice
of the silenced dodo gone
void of wisdom, set in mud
by the Ibis of Babel, Thoth
Beware the sweet nothings
the empty promises of
beautiful, hollow birds.
Paper Wings
Fold a golden heron
from an origami square
a scattering of verse
to be passed on
given to the clouds
whispered by the rain
a tale that leeches
deep into the earth
where the ginkgos grow
to take the fables up
from their roots into
their sociable leaves
who pass the words on
to a golden heron flight.
