Into the open dusk sky

Into the open dusk sky
above the stilled pines

darts a little bird,

silent as the forest's

hushed embrace.

It swoops, turns,

zigs, stays, and bends,

a frenzied exstasis

of no discernable intent,

no concern for its safety,

no ache for song and reply.

Maybe it dances a nocturne.

Maybe it is lost.

Maybe it feasts

on invisible insects.

I want a friend

who knows the difference

and knows no difference.