Deaf Poets, Ethereal Templates, Friendly E.Coli, Zombie Museums, & De-establishing Schools

Song School

On our porch swing
Drinking coffee
Listening to chickadee chatter.
It begins.
The transformation of frost
Via dawn light.
The slant of it
The micro-nuance of it
as it cracks & melts &
slides down the roof.
it chatters too,
“I am the Spring’s harbinger.”
Then silence…melted & alive in the gutters
& then to the rain barrel,
a very different
species of noise and signal.
The chickadees chickadeedeedee,
The drips ripple
down and out.
An uncompromising duet,
A song school.