To Sing

Foggy forest.

This morning
I watched a goldfinch
Disappear into a tree
Through a hole no bigger
Than my open mouth.
From the hollow
The bird
Began her crooning.
That's what poetry is
I thought --
Not the tree,
But the hidden song.
Not the bird,
But the instinct to climb
Inside the darkness
To sing.

-Benjamin Gucciardi