Valley

(Speed poem)

The birds pass over my head between the two.
On occasion one will dive down, wanting to know my wishes.
It is lying. It wants my assent, my support,
Even my subservience.
They never agree, they spurt
Springs of orders, contraries.
Let me be free for tonight?
Or make me stay in to tidy my abode?
They are the mountains
And I am the valley
Into which their words flow.