MISSING FROM ME
That bird, its call.
Two descending notes.
The same interval I use
when calling you. The same
elongation of the first tone,
gentle landing on the second.
Which is why I named it
after you, why I sing
back to it, using your name–
have for years. But
I still can’t name it
I mean I don’t know
which bird it is
that suspends me
with two sung syllables.
I can be on my knees
in the garden, busy
and dirt-minded, when
there’s that call and
I can’t keep my head
from lifting, can’t
keep myself doing:
must pause.
The bird calls me
calling you. This bird
I cannot identify
but whose voice I know
as well as yours. This distance.
Do you, I wonder, still long
on the other end
of all the long miles.
Do you hear me
when a bird calls your name?