The woman leading the bird walk
is excited because she thinks
for a minute the bird
is one she doesn’t have
on her life list
and then she says Oh it’s
just a dickcissel.
I raise my binoculars
to bring the black throat patch
and dark eye
into the center of a circle.
I see how the dickcissel
clings to a stem
when he sings, how
he tilts his head back,
opens his throat.
The group follows
the leader to higher ground.
The wind comes up; white blossoms
of the elderberry dip and
right themselves in a rocking motion
again and again. An oriole
flies into the cottonwood,
the gray catbird into
the tossing ripening sumac.
The nobody bird
holds on,
holds on and sings.
The Nobody Bird
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