The Invisible Birds of Central America

For Alicia The bird who creaks like a rusty playground swing the bird who sharpens the knife         the bird who blows on the mouths of milk bottles         the bird who bawls like a cat like a cartoon baby         the bird who rubs the wineglass the bird who curlicues         the bird who quacks like a duck but is not a duck         the bird who pinks on a jeweller's hammer They hide behind the sunlight scattered throughout the canopy At the thud of your feet they fall thoughtful and quiet coming to life again only when you have passed Perhaps they are not multiple         but one a many-mooded trickster         whose voice is rich and infinitely various         whose feathers liquify the rainbow         rippling scarlet emerald indigo         whose streaming tail is rare as a comet's         a single glimpse of which is all that you could wish for         the one thing missing         to make your eyes at last feel full to meet this wild need of yours         for wonder