Two poems

Black-capped Chickadee

The black-capped chickadee
Sings only

Two-notes.

One interval to pierce
The morning,

Pulling breath behind—
Arrows trailing errant feathers

Wil-nil

Through the sky.
His call patient in its urgency,

Same-same;

As though all mornings
Could be like this:

A chorus of jubilant trills.
Like he’d never seen feathers

Tum-ble,

Or tread marks
On a wing.

Chickadee,

Tell-me

How it feels
To sound like home.

Do you come home to
Your own voice at

Sun-rise

Every morn?
Or have you

Some-how

Never left?

Candle Flame

It dances coyly
As though clay could contain it.

As if anything could contain it,
Should it leap itself free!

For now, content,
It wiggles and cavorts,

Shooting wisps of exertion
Into thinning air.

Bowing,
Bending,
Billowing,

Stretching
And releasing.

A small, quiet chaos
Unfurling itself.