The large black-winged birds
behind the brewery have a secret
they want to share, yet guard it
with the ferocity of Poe.
But these dark creatures are more
verbose than his dark visitor;
these birds, leaping from flimsy birch branches,
squawk rapid-fire in single syllables.
Taunting, taunting, daring
And curious listeners stop, look up —
seduced by the complex cacophony of cackles.
Birds or madmen?
Some pretend to know the answers, to decipher
truths in the discordant avian chatter.
But the birds, as always, know better:
luring with small bright clues, but
never sharing enough to solve the riddle.
barbara fletcher 