I heard the birds disagreeing
in my backyard tree
loud and shrill it was speech
not song it sounded Corinthian
or Apollonian I get confused.
Outside of lovers one
never hears our original tongue
anymore those five-
shapely tones from which
there are easily now
twelve baskets left over.
As my lover the air
likes to say the languages
are dying one by one
until only love is spoken.
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