A Mockingbird

This mockingbird at my window
sings of former times
like other mockingbirds before her.

On our way back from church
near a gloriously-lit fall field
sang a lone mockingbird.

I knew then I was falling
in love with you.
No, not falling, but taking flight.

Later that week, a mockingbird
visited you at your home,
too far north of natural habitat.

Now this feathered thread through time
appears at my window each afternoon
searching, it seems, for something.

A nest?  A friendly ledge? 
The greenery of silled houseplants? 
Or what? 

I tell you of her appearance,
as you report your own sighting to me.
A sign? you ask. 

Perhaps.  But of what? 
These recurrent patterns puzzle
and draw us toward Mystery

that beckons us from Beyond
through time and traditions
like church and courtship.

Isn’t that enough of a sign
of the perennial eternality
that breaks into mocking song

with you there
and me here--
apart-- 


yet unified in song sign after all? 


©2013, Tess Lockhart.  All rights reserved.