The Language Of Birds

As I sat in the Garden
In no particulate disorientation
I took interest
In the notation
Of birds
How it is that I understand them
Not so much as a human
Nor as a syntactical illusion
Only as a confusion
Of the normal sound of voices
Normally heard
Yet not normally observed?

For had I not tasted the Dragon’s Blood
This faculty would surely have escapéd me
To understand the Raven
To divine the mystical hieroglyphs of Egypt
Or to see my own imminent death,
Yet I sit on the hewn rock
A blackbird on each shoulder
Whispering the vögelsong of secrets
With one eye closed
Whispering back to the Ancient Ones
The Language of Adam
The Namegiver
Who spoke the language of birds.