Salvation

A green finch perches on a pale, old limb
Singing a song of unrivaled
complexity.
He holds his head
to the sky
and tears holes in the clouds;
brings life to the flowers
with aphids
twirling lightly
on their stems.

While the pioneers venture,
as the cattlemen ride,
and the footsteps
fall hard
from the soldiers' big boots,
the smoking, hot engines
growl faster
and louder.
The owls go deaf,
the foxes lay down,
and the willows
still weep
on the golden hills.

Does the songbird take flight?
No, he sings ever louder
and all of his fellows find fury and strength.
From a forest of red comes a roar
like an earthquake,
but the grinding of tanks
sends it rustling away.

Alone the bird sits
never moving or flinching.
The metal teeth pummel him,
languid he flies
and thumps on the ground.

But reticent cherubs
float swiftly down
and kiss his bruised feet
and his cold, golden beak.
They embrace him
and hear a faint beat.
The bird opens his eyes and sings.