On top of the pines

they speak in tongues

and redress a cycling of days.

They walk upon the sky

and intersect with wings

aflame by the sun.

It is an aviary of prayer

of limitless tone.

I am not alone.

The field is an amphitheater

catching and throwing

the sounds of mourning.

A duet of doves seize the day.

Carpe diem tweaks the dew

and lifts redemption again.

The blackbird’s night song

fades into light.