Dark Song Of The Black Bird Poem by Sonny Rainshine

For days the black bird,
whose features purloined purple
and shimmering greens
from the sunlight,
homesteaded on the iron railing
of the terrace on the hillside.

For days I spied on him,
impressed with the range
of his voice, the juxtapositioning
of notes; what was he trying
to communicate?

Well, I’d like to think
he was sending signals of assurance
to the nestlings on the roof,
or warning them of impending peril.
Perhaps at times
he was simply happy
to have been born with wings
and the gift of flight.

It was some weeks later
that the roofers came to repair
the damage from the unrelenting
north wind of the winter past.
In the midst of their work. they had discovered
a nest full of feathers and tiny bones.

It was black songs the black bird sang
those days, monodies of mourning.
Strange how we so readily
misinterpret things.