A night bird
I never was …
neither a barn owl, nor a nightjar.
Nor a common owl was I ever
like snow
soundlessly descending on a mouse.
A nightingale am I.
Moonlight silver is reflected
by dewy feathers.
As if I were an earthenware whistle
the wood resounds within me
in the mist
of cascades …
thundering with abandon
from the heavens.