Have you ever seen
Radiant red bird
Atop the nameless bare tree
Of a stark white winters’ day
Bright with song, you may even say,
Busily about its purpose?
Or have you, yourself,
Perhaps on the flipside of winter
In the fiery blades of summer,
Ever lingered under a shaggy green tree
With nothing-
The ego, nor its intention,
Which could very well be
Our sole occupation,
And, pure and simple,
Felt the surge of your belonging?
Haven’t you then,
With the whole of your body, also
Wanted to sing aloud
As if from the tops of the trees-
That cantering ramble
Of praise and gladness
For this,
Another day?