ASH OF ANCIENT STAR

“What we have loved, we become.”—Wayne Muller

Cedar waxwings sweep through open sky.
I see their small winged presence a gift,
each of us by the other held.

Within their breasts
they carry birds of all past time,
ancestral birds long gone—those yet to come.

Suddenly they launch into flight—
thrilled with the moment!
Touch down on a distant birch—flickering stars.

Birds dream all the long flights home.
in them I meet my life in passing—
their lives flowing into mine.

Are they not also ash of ancient star—
their flight borne on a glacial wind of long ago?
Dreams carry seeds I can never call my own.

I yield to husks of all that is hidden.
Pure voices set free,
birds begin to sing in my sleep.


Published in: The Cape Rock, 2004, Volume 36, number 2