Birdsong

Birds know the mind of god
Better than we do.
They dwell always in the soup
Of time and space,
Never leaving for one moment
The sky, the ground, the canopy,
The whisper-thin firmament of the cosmos
Where the force of life
Expands upon the face of earth
Like dust settling on a snow globe.

They sing their love songs,
Calling out to each other from the treetops,
Inviting company and building nests
Where they will lay their speckled eggs,
Swooping down to take a worm
Or a crust of bread,
Ever vigilant of danger,
Every moment upon the edge of death,
Fully immersed in the tides of life,
And singing.

They know her intentions,
Though they, too, fall from the sky.
The storms of spring overturn their nests,
The fox catches them unaware,
The fowler shoots them down
As they swim through waves of wind.
But still they eat.
But still they nest.
But still they sing.
What else should they do?