A Mysterious Language Of Birds Poem by Jenny Kalahar

These little birds upon this fence of flowering vine
these small wonders of feather and beak
black eyes I can't see from here
but know they see me watching

These brilliant brains under skulls of brown down
won't tell me in my language
when it is that the end is coming
of the glaciers
the trees they love
the hue of sky they love
night cool they need for sleep …

No, they won't speak to me
but hide what they know
and worry about
and need
and have to offer as advice
in mysterious peeps and wing motions
tailfeather lifts and turns of head:
It is a language I can never learn