Fore Born

it starts in April
the bullfrog calling
your name
to a wood duck across
the graphite-darkened dredge
pond beyond my window,
moon or no moon,
his drum comes
throbbing across
the shifting waters

it begins in October
the wild geese crying
your name
one to another, an interrogatory
beacon in that cold
enclosing mist,
exhausted they circle,
calling out for their own
rest under the night on
these small waters

it begins in July
the Kingfisher inquiring
about you
he cocks his head and calls
to me across the balcony
In fierce indigo notes
i cannot answer and he scoffs
holds the light and dives
dining on silver in our
summer waters

it began in December
a raven in the snow
finds me repeatedly
in unquiet speech
from fence post
or hill or naked pine
his approach
incrementally fierce and restless,
laughing, to tell me
about you
smoothing his blue-black wing
he smiles and with
one iridescent feather
bestows his Corbid blessing

at first it seemed only natural.
but tonight I wonder:
how do all the birds know your name?

River of No Return

Cold Calls