Birds, on the wire

We pause, we rest, unknowingly related, together, on the wire. 

 We know not each other’s struggles; we know not each other’s pain.

 We ask nothing of our others, the birds, we know them not, no bother. 

 We are, yet not, related. 

 There are no squabbles, we fight not, on the wire. 

 We fly alone, one singular one, yet we are part of the larger whole, all together, as the bigger one. 

 We arrive at the wire from every direction; we depart the wire in every direction. 

 We converge, if but only for a mere moment, on the wire. 

 Some songbirds, some workingbirds, some hunterbirds, some lovebirds, all perched, on the wire. 

 We look different, our songs different, some migrate, others stay, all different. 

 All different, yet same. Same, we are all one, we birds.

 Our chirps, different. There may be no unison, no stereo in our caws.

 Still, we sit, perched wing to wing, harmoniously different while together, on the wire. 

 We judge not, we sling not, no blame. Drama, she does not reside, on the wire. 

 There are no colors too dark, no colors too bright, on the wire.

 No feathers so ruffled or disheveled. No wings battered enough to be shunned, on the wire.

We make room for more birdbrothers and birdsisters to join as they approach, on the wire. 

 We are, all, every singular one, different, but same-same as one, on the wire. 

Birds, come one, come all, sing with us, on the wire.