To stand a moment

where light and shadow fall

like Autumn leaves in Spring

and, in so pausing,

hear

the flutter of

those caught-in-amber notes,

strung like beads of sunlight

upon sweet, scentless air,

is to better understand

the exchange

of Odysseus and the Sirens —

my need to listen,

captivated,

and Thrush’s need

to sing.

— C.Birde, 5/16