AT THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN

There was a black bird
                                      floating
  tree's length from my head

And another
to alight
on a fractally unfolding
dead     black     branch

My eyes were limitless
and the speck of water half-hidden
      in the feathers on his leg
shone to me
      bright as the blood under my fingernail.

Tip toe length taut with light
I thought he saw me
and thought back to him:  
  Come
  here to me
Reached thought to the muscles in his wings      
      Come. Fly here. Oh please
                                   come

Everything went
still
and wings half-opened -

but then, no -
      and but again -

and then he
                          hopped

but just to another knot on the branch -

And every dry leaf in the forest drum rattled all at once
brittlely crackled to the knocking breeze
like billions of grains of sand on a beach!

Looked up again

tree was empty