Between Two Rivers

What I missed most
                                    were the birds:

                          the toneless chatter of 
                          house sparrows
                                    flocking in unison;
 
                                           the blue jay crying
                                                   from atop its perch
                                           on behalf of
                                                   the neighborhood watch;

                                                                   the flash and tsweet
                                                   of a cardinal's carrot-red beak 
                                                                   and mahogany wing
                                                   in the pine branches;

                                          the balletic flight
                                                                 of goldfinches
                                                                                  atop dusk-lit fields
                                                                 of needling thistles;

                                                                 the house wren's song
                                                         streaming
                                                                           stut   ter  ing
                                                                   like  my  mo  ther's  sew  ing  ma  chine;

                                                   red-winged
                                                                                  blackbirds
                                                roaming through
                                                                     thick marsh reeds
                                                               for shelter.

Like a living anthology I'd left
         behind as I crossed the Atlantic, the
                      bird songs of New Jersey became
         my library abroad:

               homespun verses 
                                  ringing in moments where 
                                                           European silence reigned—

                                        clarion call
                                                 for homecoming 
                                                           echoing in the cold wind
                                                                                as the crash of 
                                                             North Sea waves 
                                                                      at Oostende
                                                dragged me 
                                          miles
                           back toward 
               the opposite shore—

               choruses    trilled 
                                                           in 
                                                                               flight                            
                                  recorded
                                                           in 
                                                                               woods
                                                           and 
                                                                               fields
                                                           and 
                                                                               wetlands
                                                           away from
                                                                               home—

                wings whistling
                                                    like flicks of
                                                                nature's paintbrush
                                    dancing
                                                    across
                                                                               her miraculous canvas—

                 sweet hymns of consolation
                            sung
                 for one who sought the strains of
                            home.