Another Dead Branch

the portal rabbit

is now part of the fox

                  *

certain members of

each tribe of birds

whether weathering here

or passing through

perch at internals

known only to them

on a long dead limb

of the old witness tree

on sunny days i think

they pick the spot

because no green leaf

blocks the view of life

transpiring below dancing

between shimmering white

and furtive crawling shadows

                  *

the spirit deer

has fallen in the grass

set upon by vultures

and now is alone waiting

for the fawn to whisper back

                  *

but in those lonely hours

when enormous gray clouds

roll through with hard rain

with distant lightning and thunder

i am inclined to wonder if

the vigil of the birds

on the solitary petrified branch

is for an otherworldly purpose

their claws clinging

to the wooden bones

of a tree which when assayed

without the bias of belief

is half here and half gone

caught between the realms

of the living and the dead

                  *

the messenger squirrel has

succumbed to the rationality

of the road and is now

a welcome mat for crows

gutted and flattened out

                  *

could it perhaps be

that the pitched song

of the passerines from

the great solitary height

is not unlike a chorus

of seraphim summoning

back to earth an ancient god

who sleeps in the dark tunnels

beyond the reach of human sight

a call to wake and rise

to an animating power

the source of avian flight

a winged beast to whom

each feathered companion prays

beseeching the deity to return

before the looming cataclysm

wrought from mankind's dominion

over every living being

a plea before the storm

to restore balance to flora

to fauna to the natural order

of the animal kingdom

                  *

and then before dawn

from the same dead bough

in an ancient ritual beyond words

a solitary owl lets loose

its slow song of low notes

to question what abides and

welcome back the light