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.

 

 

Olive-backed Sunbird

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