Outside Yourself by Jack Cooper

In the sense that
a baby hummingbird
can fall at your feet
and you can stoop to see
that it was born
with one withered wing
and would never fly
or find its own food,
and that you can cradle
it in your hands
with its shivering heart
and lift it out of the dirt
to give it ambrosia through a straw
and that you are able to decide its fate,
be in charge of its chances,
in this sense
you are a god

In the sense that
you dont know if the bird
will live or die in your car
or what to do about the job
or the cat or the long nights
and that you decide to return it
to the thick bush it fell from
where it will surely open its mouth
and from from its tiny gullet
until its tongue shrivels
and its good wing grows limp
and its feet curl
and its lost eyes close forever
in this sense
you are merely human
and do not want to be a god

This fallen bird
this ornament of the firmament
now flies on withered wings
through the eternity of the wakeless sleep
It is your teacher
in the lonely lesson of wildness
You can live outside yourself in the sky
but you cannot be a god
of only beginnings




                                           jack cooper ©2012



Apryl Skies © 2012