The Offline Mind

to the sparrow at my window feeder

Mornings like these are the same for you and I–

We quietly defend our place in this world
by carrying on like so, and finding a little life

between shaking and soaring,
sputtering and gliding.

We’ve both waited for Him to reappear
and blow again into our hollow bones.

(Earth is where the ground is full of bodies
but the trees are full of birds.)

Like you, I find myself tired of the sky,
Like the sun.

Yet here’s something: these wings, however small,
do influence the wind

so that a weed some place may bow
in observance of your power.