Bird Song

At dawn I hear the robin's first call
Clearing the clouds from the edge of the blue shot sky
Beckoning the bulbs to stir in the warmed earth.

By midmorning cardinals are singing in the pines
A sparrow's song trills from the apple limbs
Damp branches glistening with the palest green.

By noon there should be jays,
But were they there?
To my ears every bird would have cried out,
Did the wood still carry echos of
the thrush calling from deep within the forest.

Golgatha sounds like a crow's cry
or worse. I can not bear to imagine.
or was there only silence?
Had all the birds on earth stopped?
Like a held breath, mute and static.

When a heart breaks, is there a sound?
Surely, I have heard it.
A low, hollow tolling D.

And then?
My soul
A mourning dove.