Speckle/breasted thrasher chucks the one-eye;

tschuck!…tschuck!…tschuck! he warns and scolds

perceived encroaching.  Sorry, I mumble at his cry.

How did I reach this instant, this soul plateau,

accepting censure from an ill-mannered bird….

his chirps articulate, more true than mine;

their spring pure unlike my struggling words

failing to fathom their season, their place in time?