Visitation

Before sleep had ended, somewhere
an insistent tap dripping drops of lead.
But the waking house was soundless.
Then the glimpse of a bird hovering
in the half-light, pecking again
and again at that insoluble wall…
Often, soon after dawn it comes —
tenacious yellow beak, imprint of wings,
marking the dusty pane. Sharp eyes
pinion me: we are mysteries behind glass
to each other, trying to break through
transparency, discover new spaces
wherein to fly, to nest, to sing.