by Pavel Chichikov
The woods swing open like a door
Step inside this pyramid of loam and leaves
Mild January sunlit columns
We birds are resting here but still we squirm
In darkness just beneath the surface
Moist and warm
Here we grow, we always grow
This is not a blessed tomb, a temple made of wood –
It is a place of hidden light
Hiding in the beech leaves we explode
We resurrected
Cedar waxwings
Yes we died, but we die not
For we are sunlight creatures, live forever
When we breathe each breath
And you, the wandering people, anxious ones
We stare down from our nests
We have achieved
Are you not like us
Do you not step from one tree to another?
Do not be afraid of death
There is a nest for you, we know it,
But do not need another for ourselves –
You and we, one nation under God
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
