Wartime Aubade

I hear them before I see them
Their song as if music might run out

Rapid twitters mingle with lazy burbles
Instruments warm up in pattern and rhythm

So light from the east comes out slow
Rising from an underwater dark

Birdsong pulls the worm from this morning
Herds last night deep among trees

The world’s first truck crests Brush Mountain
Dragging its parachute engine organ

Stop me before I run away with myself
To join an army of beaks and feathers

A light brigade pouring over the horizon
A dark enemy driven into the eaves