The very moment when all goes wrong,
the thought who will pay, how will this be fixed,
pales beside the sight of the mountain of birds.
The innocent, slain, built into a burial heap,
what’s wrong, in your life, with your lie?
This mountain of birds was built in an instant,
built in a century, built in a lifetime,
built before you were born.
There is no way to express it,
relieve it, make it better,
make it all go away, because
there’s this mountain of birds
to explain.

Some would say to make
such a mountain requires
no explanation.
It’s a victory, there’s no dispute.
The mountain of birds
Is testimony
to all that goes right,
not wrong.
No one deserves song,
no one deserves birds.

Here’s the catch
It can be fixed. It only requires money.
But if it’s only money
to buy our way out of this
why the mountain of birds?

This world has seen
more mountains of birds
than words can contain.
Feathers, eyes, beaks
consigned to rubbish.
If only a sudden spring rain
from nowhere
would water this place.
May a garden take flight
from these silent wings.

Who has the strength to climb this mountain
place boots upon brittle bones, smothered
creatures robbed of flight, alive, helpless
all that they might be a mountain.
Some would say it is a challenge man must overcome
the cost accepted along with the triumph.

There will be no arch built
no parade, no chariot
no slave whispering this too will pass.
Who would plan the parade
to commemorate climbing this cairn,
after the mountain
is left far behind.