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Putting the Bird Back in the Sky

Here I am—

of two minds: all eyes—all ears—for an echo.

Driving into the sunset,
who is not gold and mining? Who is not a piece of one,
son-like in that way?

I call you mine and I am yours.

The tree lover becomes a tree, wooden and breathing
in reverse, giving my livelihood away.
Green and leafing canopy for the herd, I wear
leaves with my skin,

tear them off with my eyes.

A bird flies over and I am birdbrained
and precocious, flying before my time.
I marry a bird, swallow it for its song, the vibrations

singing I am. The bird and its flying,
small-time creators, leave me with nothing
to stake a life on.

I have no choice.

In the sun too much, charioteer and burning
in my father's shoes, I call the whistling air—


John Isles

Inverse Sky
University of Iowa Press

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