Yvonne Blomer

Listen to those blackbirds.  Gods
of the slick sun.  Their voices:
a thick rolling on the tongue.
Listen to them crinkle and croon,
call out the fields, the blue,
puffed-up blooms, the eccentricity
of humans.  There is origin and orgasm
in that trill chortle.  Heart ring
heart beat, the finger-picked song
of the body letting go, leaping to
something as thin, as thick as air.

– from As if a Raven