The Last Ivory-Billed Woodpecker

The mate I have not quite imagined into being
refuses to answer my daily call, or is it that she
answers by answering with refusal? To be rare
is, by definition, to be endangered. I am

a tautology. Because those swamp-tramping seekers
tempt me with recordings of long-dead matriarchs,
I have reasoned that rarity causes endangerment
according to Supply And Demand, the truth of this

world made by Homo economicus, Prudent Man.
Because I live in that made world, I hoard
my existence. But I did not make this world,
am not prudent, not man, and sometimes irrationally hazard

everything, taunting their avid ears
to call a few of them to risk belief.

Copyright © 2004 Bruce Tindall All rights reserved
from Beloit Poetry Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission