Souls of April
I heard a single morning birdJust before 5 a.m. So bright,
un-shy to be the first to greet
the wall of another April day.
I’d spent the night in my day clothesdeep in the sweet bed of fiction.
Both found and lost as a 12 year old
in their last summer of mystery.
I’ll drive 300 miles today as another writer’slanguage bounces inside my metal carriage,
rings my ears with sweet description,
places I have known or dreamed about.
At 5:30 a few more birds joined the chorusand by 6:00 the air was full with songs
no cage or prison cell could restrict.
Oh, what luxury this life has given now.