Birdsong Bibles

At three a.m.
birdsong sounds like
the steady drop of dimes
onto Bibles,
or pages turning inkspots
blindly into molting wings--
new feathers may be weak,
but quills like those are
filled with ink for ease of use.

I think.

Still they flutter on
in morning's womb
for birds are restless children, too,
like nickles sent spinning
on the Torah.
Dancing without direction,
sometimes even good girls fall;
the best bear skirts like
flippant wings of white,
and written stains of aging red.

Hidden.

Small hands scatter
ivory flowers,
petals pile like pennies cast
in drifts against the frail Koran.
Innocence lingers in the veils,
the winding gauze of
featherdown drawn on,
where pinions fall.
From crow's feet come
the songs of doves,
unsung,
and left to whisper for the dawn.

In silence,

where birdsong counts
the steady drop of dimes
against Bibles.

AKL 2006