- and so he knocks and knocks
and i believe his little beak will
break. i have heard him crash
against the window. seen him
spread his wings as if the very
vision will scare off his image
i've tried to catch him. i went
out, bought seed and a wooden
house. placed it in the bush. i
hear his song. it is a slow tune
i want to speak with him. let
him know that once a long time
ago - i sat in a chair and watched
a storm of red birds sweep into
the sky and land carefully
- wing to wing - across - a slate - tin
roof - i want to tell him i was younger
- open to the messages he may carry -
from the heavens and the earth - now all
i care about is my sanity and the constant
knocking at a window that will never open
