Somewhere, There Is a Bird
Somewhere, there is a bird.
I can't tell where.
The bricks and the adobe and the concrete river
and even the not-really-distant pink wall of the mountains
make sounds hard.
But somewhere, there is a tweet,
constant and peaceful.
I look up to the trees.
There may be a bird there, a small one,
the sort the roadrunners prey on.
But it may also be the wind
shuffling the leaves.
I look to the ground,
though the songbirds do not nest there,
not with the coyotes or the bobcats prowling,
or the roadrunner.
The rabbits might not bother them.
But they might.
Rabbits are unpredictable.
The high twittering goes on,
bouncing off of God knows what.
There's a nest in the piñon,
but nothing is moving there,
and the song is no louder.
Somewhere, there is a bird.
Maybe it's best to let it be.