Robin named before and continue nameless as advocated for,
The song birds are mocking thy migratory trance. Listening to incense burn
And white-hair dreaded
Claim the Earth’s turn.
I mute the madcap and devise a plan to ensnare
The song of air.
I fasten a shoelace around the nozzle
Of a water bottle stocked with its liquid fetus.
I tie the loose end to a hook secured to the stucco ceiling,
Air then spins the bottle
While sunlight flays a fractured prism
Inside the plastic.
Perched on the stop sign
Browsing thy surroundings
For a bit of fodder-
Hear this song from my window
& celebrate the ability
To split the crescendo into two
While thou mounts
The invisible world.