The trees move and I am
My eye is not the only eye.
There is one other.
I fly between the branches
But do not find a perch--too many leaves falling.
I am alone as a blind eye. I was once
Not alone. I have forgotten why.
The wind whistles in the branches
And I whistle--the sounds exactly the same.
Ice on the grass this morning. Soon the snow
Will catch my shadow as I pass from tree to tree.
I know exactly why I am here.
I watch for the one with talons.
I cannot chase him like the little ones.
I think of him, at night, huddled on the opposite
Side of the black bole.
I know all the inflections of birds and of branches.
That I can sing louder than the moon.
From above, the trees look like black suns
Against the dying grass. There is no
Perch at the center of a sun.
My fellows cry out as they pass.
They see these trees with my eye
And do not want them for their own.
I do not fear anything
And nothing fears me
Except the trees.
I must be going soon--
Once the river and the trees
The dark grows long as day
And there are no more leaves.
The snow stings my eye.
I have already left
Before I fly.