terra-dactyls - earth poets

If the wind in the trees is a bird 

(as Mary Oliver suggests - http://www.loc.gov/poetry/180/057.html)

and the rains, ceaseless tonight, 

are pteradactyls crooning, 

then birds are all night frolicking with their ancestress

pteradactyls

(a name I always thought meant these ancient shark-like ravens

with their leathery wings, were poets, shrieking dactyls)

the birds and the aflying dinosaurs are rampaging 

and i dream of wet, sodden gardens

where all the seeds are obliterating into fine mash

the soggy dream ground cannot grow anything

with all these birds and dinosaurs calling (storms arriving)

what happens when our creative spirit

encounters a nor'wester

I know pathetic fallacy isn't a fallacy

but there's a moment here, a poem

drowing in air, pummeling and soaring

its way to earth from the birdcloudpeople

a poem, can it make it

through the storm

to drop on my head

and open my mouth

with a bit of that oldsong, 

the dinosaurbreath, 

the terra dactyls and spondees responding

in my glottal stop, tongue untying

if i snapped on the lights now

and looked at my profile

would is see a beak there

or just these opened lips caw-crowdling

dream miasmas 

dropping from the words

soaring into sight?