Season of the Songbird

nestled in the tree by my window

her performance schedule is quite particular

but when the warm wind of a summer evening brushes through her wings,

the neighborhood rendered silent:

flushed-out street lamps and a shade-splattered landscape

she lifts her head and spills dulcet tones into suburbias fuzzy sonic ambience

her repetoire sinks into my recollection of the day and reflects it into the night

I take from it what I can

whats left dissolves into the sunset.