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 BRIEF ENCOUNTER WITH BLACKBIRD

The blood of dinosaurs is in his veins,
And in my veins the less impressive blood
Of some lean, snuffling cousin of the shrew.
We eye each other prudently across
A dozen bricks and sixty million years.

We have not always shared a patio,
A trellis and a square of morning sun,
Nor do we share them easily today,
For in a dusty crevice of my mind
I store the recollection of an age
When dragons roamed unhindered through the world;
And somewhere in his small, uncluttered brain
Is locked an ancient memory of one
Who darted from the shadows of the trees
And raised a cunning paw to fling a stone.