Birdsong like gun-bark
and the night - strong and legion -
becomes day, only still dark
It is feral - savage, even -
to have waited for this crack
It takes anti-cohesion,
whether lying on one's back,
always one hour from sleep
or sitting, shuffling a pack
of playing cards. It's cheap,
unhealthy and chaotic
There is nothing to reap
and it's hardly quixotic.
But each muted soundspark
is richly hypnotic
Birdsong like gun-bark
and night - strong and legion -
becomes day, only still dark
The witness? Some heathen.
