Chickadee

Two luminous bodies dash barefoot,
fearless of stepping on bumblebees,
until they reach the crooked pine.
The sisters pause for the chime of hidden birds.
Then sing, Oh Chickadee!
Chickadee-in-the-tree!
Come sing with me!

They believe in the correspondence with birds,
tiny and lucid as light bulbs.
When, each day, they chatted to a lone chickadee
perched on the battered fence, they beleived
the same bird perched there yesterday.
They mimicked the songs of silk-ribbon
raveling down limbs the squirrels scamper.
Translated their secrets into loops of euphony
offering orange slices to the soaring spirits.

They made a mattress of grass, traced outlines
of cirrus clouds, those slender phantoms
on rivers of wind. They bit the sweet tips
of violet clovers, crushed blackberries in their palms,
rummaged their mother's garden
for strawberries and Asian pears.

With legs elongated, eyelids sewn shut,
they rhapsodized spells, pleading Chickadee
to shrink their child-bodies, bless them
into flight, as they leaped from swings.