Easter Sunday, 2009

"Can a bird make sense of a tree?"

April echoes of vibrant cardinal song
turns me around and around, looking
from branch to branch and all along
each limb to its winding ending.
I hear, but cannot see the bird
whose voice seems everywhere around
until, like seeking a hidden word,
a spot of red turns into what I've found.
Cardinal himself, unmistakable when turned
tufted head and stable tail behind;
so obvious once seen, you've just discerned
how you're looking at what you'll soon find.
Now the blue black muddled field of view
is all revolving around a speck of red,
into a turning whirl of growth twining through
a searching thought, mulling on 'til you have said
"I've got it!" There the source of jubilant song
leaps out of invisibility to sight.
Tomorrow morning, our voices singing strong,
we'll take our joy as dawn takes over night;
the sight of an empty tomb opening up
the turning of all around, like clouds in a cup,
the song of Easter a clarifying word,
like the flash of red reveals a singing bird.