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FOR THE BIRDS
(After Li Shagyin)
In the trees starlings chatter.
Their behavior is noisy
and erratic. Among birds,
they’re nasty fanatics.
Over their heads, the moon
falls like a feather
onto a frozen bed.
They pay it no heed.
Are they like we are?
Are their thoughts
full of mindless chatter,
and like young lovers,
do they try to make poems,
gleaning meaning
from such
unpromising matter?