forest stream

trickled run-off filtering between roots

of forest trees, seeking lower ground

finding tiny rivulets rich with soil bits

tumbling over pebbles, searching out paths, joining to form a crick, then creek

lower and lower into a stream where

my love and i lie on grassy bank

drinking in sounds of tinkling, slithering  dipping, crashing glistening waters moaning, singing, defying, bullying

plummeting to fulfill gravity’s charge and we, laughing, hold each other

joyous to be part of the sentient and non-sentient order that includes us

however reluctantly

talk with birds

i wish i could talk with birds

that would make it easier to communicate, although hummers

do pretty well eyeball to eyeball

like the little Anna’s who chided

me through the window for allowing

the red, liquid treat to be depleted

or my zebra finch who patted

my hair as i reached into their cage

to give them fresh seed and water

or the snowy owl who watched me

standing in awe admiring him

and turned nearly full circle, posing

so i could have the full experience

of his splendor

or the osprey dad who glanced at me

as, worried, too, i watched

with him his oldest chick

gathering courage for its

first flight from the rugged nest high

on the platform of a utility pole

still, their plaintive cries or smiley

chirps and twitters leave me wondering

if their sounds mean to them what

their calls stir within my own emotions

i wish i were wise enough to understand