Hermit Thrushes in the Morning

Photo: (c) Jamie K. Reaser

On an overcast morning in July,

hermit thrushes

ping-pong snippets of their

liquid melody between

north and south ridges.

I don’t understand

the loquacious banter

and I think this tragic.

If a pair of angels stood

in my midst,

would I just carry on,

neglecting to surrender my being

to the symphony of their

holy language?

Intimacy is the turnkey to the soul.

Unbearable passion is what births

everyday miracles.

Why choose to explain a cloud

rather than lie on your back

in tall grasses

and watch a menagerie

shapeshift as it passes?

I don’t claim to have any answers,

But I know this world wasn’t made

to entertain the diminutive thoughts

of reasonable people.

This world was made for those

whose heart breaks

for want of a grand romance

in which they can

never fully partake.

~ Jamie K. Reaser, Author

Published in "Sacred Reciprocity: Courting the Beloved in Everyday Life" and 
"Wild Life: New and Selected Poems" 

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