That bird. That’s all I can say quietly inside where only I can hear the one I’m talking about. How to describe that chirping already the wrong word there just isn’t, see. They are yelling, I think, glad of this day. Insisting right here in the trees. But there are even more kinds. Smaller birds under the large ones if you listen. Like the voices of children in church. You have to slow, let the whole sound fill like oh big breath. And what what comes of that? The ever smaller sound within. The opening of this strange world. Ah, the sunset, of course. But this stripe of orange through these clouds while this wave is crashing on your own two feet the sand shifting under you the mother coaxing you ever home. This is yours. Never before has just this never again, you drop to your knees the water soaks your jeans through you didn’t come prepared. There’s a cargo ship far off and those crows have found the remains of your dinner here you are longing for your own bed but riveted forever to this one spot. You are impossible, elated with deep sadness. Loss and riches the golden foam lapping you up you give way, you cry and promise to paint it all down, to call your mom, to stay right here. The sun sets like it always does. Your wallet is wet. You are unrepeatable.
