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Poetry By
  Michael Dobberstein


Published on: 11/13/2015
Ceremonies

Long before first light the birds begin.
Crows usually, and robins, the occasional jay.

So I lie there, listening to what occurs
In the chattering din before the start of day.

The world's still dark so I can't believe
That birds are stirred by the sun—

They must be moved some other way. Maybe
Something before dawn that can't be heard,

That's never seen, that we cannot name,
Something deep in the fabric of things as they are—

Maybe this makes the birds sing. I lie there
Listening for something behind the gathering hum

That starts the day. But the world just turns
And morning is filled with the sound of birds.

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