Why Birds Sing

Because something moves through a small body at dawn,

and has nowhere else to go.

🐦 🐦‍⬛ 🪶

Because sound is the only proof

some creatures have of themselves,

and a bird stripped of its song

is just a thing that breathes.

🐦 🐦‍⬛ 🪶

Because morning arrives,

and someone must acknowledge it,

must rise to meet that pale hour

before it turns bright.

🐦 🐦‍⬛ 🪶

Because loneliness does belong

to creatures beyond us,

and calling out across a yard

carries its own form of hope.

🐦 🐦‍⬛ 🪶

Because the body holds things

the mind has yet to reach,

and sometimes that knowing

travels out as melody.

🐦 🐦‍⬛ 🪶

Because another bird hears,

has always heard,

and what passes between them

predates any word we ever formed.

🐦 🐦‍⬛ 🪶

Because joy does not pause

before it travels upward,

does not wait for circumstance

to justify itself.

🐦 🐦‍⬛ 🪶

Because something in a small creature

recognizes beauty

and cannot help but answer it,

the way water answers gravity,

the way a seed answers warmth,

from no calculation,

from no hesitation.

🐦 🐦‍⬛ 🪶

Because we have spent centuries

trying to solve what they simply do,

gathering theories, books, argument,

and still a bluejay on a bare branch

opens its beak each morning

as though the answer lived

solely in the act itself,

the way blood moves,

the way light moves,

because it was made to.