Backyard stretches out before me
And a low branch purrs to me, a siren
Offering a seat. I jump to it
And nearly tumble down from her hand.
The squirrels squawk angrily at me above
For taking their favorite perch.
In my ears, my iPod headphones
Pump out the beats of Arvel Bird,
His music speaking with a
Language of symbols I could read,
If I so desired. But
Right now, I sit, torn. I could
Jump to the lush ground to stomp my feet,
To throw my arms and swing my body
In a Native American dance of worship –
Or I could sit here, listening to him speak
With his drums and keyboard, observing
The creatures whose stories he tells
Pass me by on their way to their own
Homes.