The summer heat rises
and lows invite the desert winds,
like a dry burn to the skin,
and weighted are the clouds,
as if sagging from the endless blue,
shimmering in the waves of heat.
Crystal clear the day,
and just after dawn outside my window,
my blackbird sings to greet the morn,
each phrase unique,
each note so sweetly played,
I just listen to honor him,
and he to honor me, the only one awake.
I whistle in response
to hear him mimic my clumsy song,
aware he is of my inept calling,
no doubt giggling to himself
as he sings a perfect melody,
with trills so complex and artfully performed.
Many times I have wandered out,
to find this sage of day,
but he disappears as I draw near,
as if to remain anonymous, deliberately,
and I so yearn to see him sing,
his voice a joy of perfection.
Come twilight I hear him again,
yet he is further away,
for in the morning glow he sings just for me,
and I his greatest devotee,
awaken each day as sun does greet the sky,
just to hear this beautiful voice, arise.
My blackbird speaks to me,
and I in response speak back,
his singing not my artistry, but I try,
just to let him know I listen
and enjoy his vocal renderings
that warm my summer heart.
Tony DeLorger © 2017