A poem pondering the sounds and interactions of birds from a condo balcony in Penang, Malaysia while recovering from surgery in August 2022.
The call of birds drew me out tonight.
Twilight falls; their voices rise
and soar above the throb of engines far below.
Do they keep the hours,
or is there something simmering?
Swallows swoop rhythmically,
round and round,
beside the balcony
of my watchful listening.
Crows cry
amid many sweeter voices I do not know.
Are they each about their own,
or are great deeds being done
and a war being won
while I am unaware?
Are the swallows sweeping circles
in an anxious battle-pace,
are they caught up in the cycle
of a great and ancient chase,
or do they celebrate the dusk
as they await the magic hour
when the noise of men will sleep
and theirs will be the night
until their song wakes the dawn?