Birds

When the birds are gone
we will know.

We will remember
flocks like clouds;
warmth
and mother's hand;
sky
that never weeps.

We will know
in our happy days
we were fools
never to see this day
never to see this quiet
this restless pause.

We will pray
try to pray
pretend to pray
earnestly
for birds;
for their sound
their daring acrobatics
their restlessness.

Look at them, daughter---

Remember.