Bird Calls
Ode to What Meditates
Breathe, placid stalwart!
In lifting all to lightness,
witness yourself lifted, too.
You are the buoyant souls
you air with felicity. All else would
succumb to mass; in translation
between beings, what cannot
suffer asymmetry?
You alone — rounder than pocket stones,
years worn by the worried thumbs
of those who forgot you here,
breathing.