An ode to the bird who flies in my head Who swoops forward and back with ease And was compressed too soon in a squeeze She tends towards the right when she remembers old frights And when her wings spread into now she expands somehow Then she seems too big for the doorway, but gets through anyway. An ode to the bird who flies in my head Some say she’s a butterfly And you can see why As delicate and intricate for sure Some say she’s a bat She can surely be seen as that But I don’t do upside down So I’ll call her a bird While I marvel at her wings And how she sits perched in the center Holding the pituitary gland of all things! An ode to the bird who flies in my head She is the gateway for a river of nerves She can get up and go, she’s got the verve But when she’s quiet And leans forward into the stillness My whole body takes a renewing drink From the center of ancient well We’ve all got a bird in the center of our heads Or a butterfly or bat if you prefer that She’s called the Sphenoid Which comes from words that mean a thing like a wedge A bend in time and space Which we all embrace As an opening in our inner space A wise winged one of delicate precision She is cradling your eyes right now Give her your attention Listen for her song An ode to the bird who flies in my head May your song sing bright for many a day Thank you for being built just your way For swooping back and forth with ease And managing that tight squeeze I am grateful for all you know And how from my head you support me All the way to my toes.
©Margaret Rosenau, 2023
