I believe the birds are back.
Swell sparrows of hop and nestle
away one day and so the world went to hell.
These things only register when missing
my friends, I am a hermit.
I do not talk to anyone at all,
except now I guess it must be necessary
to say the sun hitting faces
of buildings against the alluring sky one wishes
to enter.Then breeze to treed lanes
undulant green as ocean.
This sight wants to snuff my utterances
by being the utmost
for my brain today. It says, “Only I say.”
One walks watching it
one stumbles; it is like wearing a heavy headdress
and people around aren’t into it
so they steer away. Unlike birds
the color of dirt who wish to be nearby
Copyright © 2009 Ish Klein
Used with the permission of Canarium Books.