THE VIREO 

It is a puzzle how we happen here,

wrapped in a single blanket, talking low

until at last the morning light appears

uncurtained through the dirty window's blur.

Now all the talking's done and we both know.

It is a puzzle how we happened here.

The empty bottle, upright on the floor

begins to cast an amber, reaching shadow 

now at last the morning light appears

and streaming sunlight winds the bird we hear

 --its rising, falling song--the vireo:

It is a puzzle how we happen here.

Inquiring bird, its questions seem so near

and clockwork answers, measured wisdom, follow:

After darkness, morning light appears.

The liquid song climbs high, then tumbles low.

We asked some questions--what more can we know?

It is a puzzle how we happen here,

until at last the morning light appears.