Saturday, April 30, 2016

For I Am Oriole

I’m waiting for the oriole.
I’ve bought the orange suet,
placed it as an offering outside.
I’ve meditated on its Latin name
and contemplated Audubon’s religious
rendering in his Holy Birds of America.
May First is almost here and that’s the date
which marks their resurrection in the Valley.

I promise not to swear when hearing golden voices in the air!
I’ve really done as much as I can do, although
this afternoon I’ll go out and buy a genuine orange,
slice it nicely into numbers I’ve been told in dreams
sing like magical attraction to the lovely flying one
and nail them on the wind. The truth will come
and when it does I’ll wear its black and orange feathers
timelessly and naturally in the hot intention of the Sun.

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