The songbird is multiplying
fractal fern geometries by
the billion beats of bees’ wings;
it’s learning things.
Each song, a tinkling mass of neurons —
code for universal truths and
clusters of ticklish facts.
The songbird is conversing upon silvered reflections,
a sea-green aphid hung
inside a drop of rain. As well, some few things
about the trajectory of spider’s silk on windy days
when the air is wet in the mouths of passersby.
It holds these facts precisely
to the tune of many filaments,
each growing and joining inside the songbird’s brain,
mapping and chanting that our world is
everything that is the case
and it is the songbird’s task
to remember it.
© 1998 Catherine Weaver All rights reserved.