I have seen the messenger bird,
flying like a psalm,
and it was large as a raven,
its cry was ink on wind.

It carved with its wings
and the air fell from it in chunks,
its wingbeats stroked
the thin tops of trees
and they made their leaves.

I watched the message of the bird
and it became my eyes--
it was small as a cedar waxwing,
and flew from the heart of the wood
with a sweet smell--

It sang, and I heard.
It flew into the lengthening days,
into the sunlight at ten,
and broke apart on the hard sky.

Author Unknown