The Ornithologist


my tongue is a red feather gliding on the breath

my kingfisher is diving into the streams white inferno
my kestrel's wing tips fumble the wind into the long grass
my yellow hammer blows cool notes through the hot reeds
my gulls mob around the hunting sun burning their shadows
my wren screams back at the falling rocks of an avalanche
my storm cock cuts down the thunder with a whistles axe
my proud humming bird knows every flowers secret name
my eagle eyes are fixed on the loveliness of a broken neck
my swift is boomeranging back from the icy deserts of Africa
my robin writing his love letters with the black blood of Jesus

my tongue is a red feather plucked from your mouth.


John G.Hall(C)2006