Each morning before dawn, a woodpecker and a scold of jays fight over the feeder, screaming and screeching like demons. Over the course of the day, other birds call out: the spotted towhee, the robin and finch, and the siskin with its pitiful, one-note squeal. At dusk, the mourning dove’s breathy melody echoes through the canyon. It’s enough to break your heart, this tune I can imagine being played on a flute carved from bone.
Copyright © 2026 by Gary Young. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 13, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
