For The Birds at the Chinese Market Who Sing When the Lid is Open

I envy you the darkness
the four heads of your brothers
a quartet of voices silent with waiting
and I envy you the child’s hand
the way it flutters there
with indecision how he decides the lid
must go and I envy you the song
filling the boy with wonder
He calls to his friends to explore
and then the lids returns, each song
stops begins again and the boy
plays this game of rhythm
and there is no reason.
Yet you sing when the box
is open and I envy you
the dark.