Twilight Birdsong

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It’s noisy inside
with the Beatles record
spinning in my husband’s
newly refurbished turntable,

so I take myself outside
on our front porch
to write at a little, round,
glass-topped table.

I settle in, feeling muddled
and even a little blocked,
and I scribble some words
filling a couple of pages in my journal.

Suddenly I hear it
woven through the blue evening sky,
crescent moon
shining just overhead,
some bright star glowing courageously
in the sea of blue–

twilight birdsong,
there the whole time,
only now there is
enough space in my head to hear it.

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