Two Men Chanced Together In Their Flight

featured in the book Good Day with the art of Gale Whitman

Chanced together were this one man and the birdman,
touching shoulders, going southward on a flight.
There this one man told the birdman his long story,
seeking confirmation that in truth what happened
. . . . . . . . . . is what he saw.

 

Two Men Chanced Together In Their Flight

Bob Komives

 

So the birdman, as a birdman, had to hear him:
about sitting, about back porch, and a cat;
about noises from some watchbirds on the phone line,
perching up there watching, perching there together,
. . . . . . . . . . though not alike;
one, two species, three birds set to watching;
sleepy cat yawns followed by alarms;
silence, a stretch, and then a warning.
Was this one man truly hearing what he saw?

Catlike sleeping, birdlike silence, watchlike vigil.
Six eyes watching, then two species worth of noise.
Every cat move duly sounded —for no reason
until distant action, the distant reaction,
. . . . . . . . . . caught this man's eye.
In far corner of the yard he saw them feeding;
four, five species, forty birds there picking food.
Then the cat stretch got reported from the phone line.
(Still this man was doubting that in truth what happened
. . . . . . . . . . is what he saw.)
Four, five species, each bird was reacting,
head up, eyes up, springing to alert.
Some would fly back into the bushes;
all stopped eating; some retreated to the fence.

When the cat showed no more movement but his sleeping,
the three lookouts were but looking down again,
and the back flock had returned again to feeding.
(Still this man was doubting that in truth what happened
. . . . . . . . . . is what he saw.)
Other stretching, other warning, then reaction.
Four, five species somehow acting like one flock.
Forty-bird incorporation lacking likeness.
In some common language, to some common purpose,
. . . . . . . . . . by common mind,
different feathers, odd birds, flocked together.
Not a family, yet having that sound.
Not a platoon, yet having sergeants.
Nothing studied had prepared him for these facts.

Then a cat yawn stretched to rising up and forward,
up and slowly (with eyes open) down a step.
With the rising came the warning called out louder
—the distant reaction readily upgraded
. . . . . . . . . . to high alert.
As the cat stepped (with eyes searching) to the walkway,
as the watchbirds crackling louder took to flight,
back yard feeders flew from ground and flew from bushes
over the back fences to the safer tree limbs
. . . . . . . . . . beyond the yard.
By the time the old cat got to walking,
nowhere back there would there be a bird,
nowhere platoon, nor crackling sergeant.
Nor could this man show another what he saw.

Then the birdman (who had listened) did the speaking.
In his life-long search he had seen but only three.
You did witness then a mix-of-species flocking.
Several individuals, several different species
. . . . . . . . . . that work as one
come together as late Summer turns to Autumn
—for their feeding, for protection, perhaps fun.
Having bonded, no new members can then enter.
Every individual is exclusive member
. . . . . . . . . . within this flock
—until leaving by types for their winters.
It's a privilege for anyone to see.
Silence, two yawns of satisfaction.
One, two birdmen chanced together in their flight.

Bob Komives :: Fort Collins © 1997 :: Two Men Chanced Together in Their Flight :: ,9703