bird watching w/o birds

i cut off my foot & watch it turn
into a crow so that i have
something to chase.
we bought the binoculars 
from a yard sale man
with row-house-crammed teeth.
in my neighborhood a light on
is a dove. feathered dead fathers.
an ambulance made of geese.
the question is always
what do you conjure in absence?
i scatter. i say, "here is the fig tree"
& "here are the wren to form it."
in another life i was a bird
who watched humans.
i kept a little guide in my spirit 
to categorize the species.
stone skippers & bicycle skins. 
horror fathers & turn-coat walkers.
i ask the sky what my common name
would but & it replies,
"song chewer." they are correct.
i put a word in my beak & wait
until it turns into bubblegum.
i spend all afternoon searching
& i do not find the crow or any other birds.
they know i am looking
& so they hide. i cannot blame them.
i would do the same. 
with scissors i cut little holes
in the sky of where i with i could 
witness them. standing back 
from my work, the holes look
like little crescent moons.