A Song

How dare any lowly robin
Add a single adjective
To her tribe’s anointed din,

A foreign note that brings
Some doubt to her very right
To fly or sing,

A song most carefully refined
Over centuries to tunes
And meters closely timed,

To melodies that speak
Only of the current moon,
The trending wind, the chic,

Until something there,
Possibly some unsung rhyme
Rising in the ocean air,

Some incandescence,
Thrusts space and time
On the bird’s more primal ends.

May Day, 2025, Kaiholu