Hunger to be Heard

A crow sets down on the path today
good-bad-luck message bird
with her bright black eye and nodding head
a book, that struggles to be read
and hungers to be heard.

The gulls like bright white fireworks
fall fading in between
the crest and crash of their wild short lives,
in swooping lifts and crushing dives
they’re screaming to be seen.

My bright boy from his hideaway
plays his dreams to me
a head of songs and heart of hope
from the other end of a telescope
he sings for us to see.

Wailing child and whining dog
bully, bore and seer
shout in defiance of deadening lull
we begin with the word, and word is all
and we exist to hear

We are huge in our insignificance,
bigger than the whole wide world,
calling out as we’re curling down
to the place where sea-stopped sailors drown
singing songs to the wide star crown
and hungry to be heard.