the birds unceasingly
fascinate  not the same ones I am certain
for years go by and  there  still
     the sense of continuity is in the feeling not the knowing
because it is for that
     one can’t always see them so much as feel them
          you know what I mean
that they’re there  making their noise  telling their stories  giving up a striking trill into this morning abundance
if we are keen enough
bright enough
sighted enough
warm enough
we are here
they say
what if this is 
that  one fine day