THE BIRDS, by Jack Hirschman

(Even though I did not write this I dedicate it to PZA)

THE BIRDS
by Jack Hircshman

I open my throat and your eyes
are inside it
for all to see.

Like birds achirp or asleep,
asmile or on the wing
in the raum-womb

of a sound:
they are the sound
people say I make,

people say: Look,
he's moaning
or raging again!

I say: Look deeper,
I've eaten soul whole,
her eyes are inside me.

They see through me.
They seem me through.
That's why I cry

nests of light into the ear.