7/3/07 (draft)

Birdsong that I cannot assign to actual birds in birder-books.
Bird-brain who cannot assign the actual song to actual bird.

One song, from a power line (was it a mouse tit?): succession
of disparate melodic bursts, whose form depends upon reply.

When my fire alarm was jogged to sound, emitting three deafening beeps,
it was another bird who answered from the woods.

The fire alarm sounded bird-like; bird-song fire alarm-like, a bird alarm.
To three beeps the bird answered, with three short song-bursts.

The machine called, the bird answered; they beeped three times.
One declaimed turf or mating brag, the other declaimed fire, false alarm,
such as from the boy who cries fire to separate a theater from a crowd.

But outdoors, there's no audience, no reason for alarm.
One can beep, and one can reply; one says FIRE, one TURF,
one declaims I am the most resplendent thing on earth.

My wings are on fire. Check out how loud I sing, all fiery song.

How I'll scotch and scorch the branch on which I'll perch.