There is a small bird that perches on my gated door and sings to her reflection–
a questioning chirp with rising intonation
urgent and sincere,
and I wonder what she’s looking for
as she peers through the door.
No time to preen or gather the stuff of nests-.
She sings to me a tone of sadness and longing,
her metronome a chirp and song.
It’s a rise and fall, isn’t it?
This pull that urges us to cry out
hoping that someone on the other side of the glass will answer.