Entreaty of the Birdwatcher

 

I am asking you to meet me

when the early morning mist

lifts white from the black water,

when momentarily flushed clouds

appear backwards

on the mill pond surface.

Together we might see

some worn night migrant

dropping down

to feed before moving on,

or some day migrant,

having rested,

departing soon after dawn.

 

We all imagine drawing

beauty from the blind.

We all envision rising

before most sleeping wake.

 

But only a few are truly kindred

and dare to view

what endures

from the darkest hours,

and if you really are

as you say,

you will choose

to rise

to meet me.