You were a home for birds on this hillside
long before people came to build their houses.
Now that you’re old they’re saying you’re a danger
because you could fall and crush one.
They’re talking about taking you down.
I sit out here every morning
listening to the birds,
give color and shape to the sun’s first rays.
If this were a dream
I’d evacuate the people
and return to witness each morning with you and the birds
until it was time for you to fall and crush a house.
There would be a symmetry in that.
But since I’ve been waking up early, no longer dreaming,
I return here every day to sit with you while it’s still dark,
at a place of darkness behind my mind,
the joy and the tears.