The Wood Thrush

Rising from the dusk, clear
as a nightingale. Behold!

An unaccompanied song emerges
from under the forest cathedral.

Melodious soprano executes complex trills,
towers over all other sounds.

I am called from my bed, barefoot,
to the deck. It is the thrush!

I have lived through the winter.
Enjoined this moment.

I shudder at the magnificence.
Surrender in astonishment.

My enraptured heart
opens.