Put it down to famous last words, to dying verse
In this chromium dawn sky a thousand dark birds explode and fall again,
Sparrows shooting out like seeds in a firestorm. There is no lack
Only what we do not have, what we cannot let go. There is no lack
Packets of light, like the birds, the mind assembles a thought -
Just once to remember what is known
What is in the moment that separates the first flown bird from last?
To know, to release, to let go that live wire, that green branch
To let go of what is held to fly!
Of flying, of what bird is made, there is no lacking
Of air above there is no lack
Though perhaps of the crowded clustered branch,
Perhaps of the frantic chattering wire,
Perhaps of mindless tendon tight, but of sky above there is no lack
Put it down to great unknowns, of mindless pull:
of fly and fall there is no lack