The bird is a cage in which the song is sung

Stitch bird, stocking bird,
song bird by which

across the evening dunes
wind-surfers take their bearings—

it is you I listen for and why
I listen.

Right bird, wrong
song, sweet bird you are

briefer than the falling stars
of Taranaki
sweet nectar of mosses, moons,

nothing in particular. Song bird singing
its upside down song, flittering

next bird, night bird, your nesting song
a blanket of crumbs

a music exhumed from a cloud
of restless feathers.