outside, barefoot, in the damp misted morning,
I listen to the calls of rising birds in the back,
and I raise my head to respond

not necessarily
do I
imitate their calls

but rather
I try to convey
the same gist as they

being certain to prelude each song
with the tag of the proper partner
– the one to whom I am intending to reply

for each has their own lilt,
it’s me, come listen…

there are many on the rise
this shining wavy day

Chagall 2019

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