Nothing like the blended tunes

Of Birds and Words;

The Sparkling notes of poets

And the sing-song of Him who wrote us

Into dust

That lives and moves and is and recollects

By sounding breaths

From fury

And rounding ashes into vowels.

There are lyrics in our bowels

That You allow to haunt us,

And yet some days,

On the songbird's strong days,

We are free to delight

In these mercenary sighs,

Sonnets of our original sin

Turned to tonic for our blindness.

Make me to sing

From even my muted inner organs

For I don't posses ears to hear

And long my eyes have longed

To glimpse your wind.

Only an undone child of God

Can see the bird and hear its song,

So breed the beautiful deed within me,

Seeded deep enough to bubble up 

From but the faintest tough of day,

The way a lily 

Is meant to wreck the worried world.

I'm yours I'm told,

So breathe a big bold blend of life sound

Into these quiet bones.

I'm alive, you know.