Ode To Small Birds

A shiver of Appalachia superfine sugar of maple windblown through the spine tingling in a burst of aortic air Inhaled as though fresh but by the mountains rendered spent the slightest reminder of organic perpetuation fiercely painful and entirely disembodied, each moment blanketed by eternity and the hereafter; primordial yet ethereal, a shadowy glimmer of final destiny. (While) in the treetops, the heron and the wren speak peacefully as they observe the rising of the sun. -- For Lydia Davis and Susan McKeown