tell your autumn self, this fountained day
of wordy unmusical frustration is nothing
to regret. ask your winter self, who will make
work of the past? what is your spring self
but an ideal to grope for, in sympathy
with the young? you let those hours go.
(see the spiders already moving in, rose-hips,
crickets?) no need to reinvent or be clever
in your acts of love. your voice—broken,
burning, sleep-rough, shrill—will be here,
a sun-pledge.
this periwinkle faith
brown-crushed-dormant
through sunless seasons
what of your pleading attempts
to will it into being?
now green so clear it hurts
stretching sunward on nothing more
than instinct and half-forgotten roots
not to be pressed in a book
or plucked to judge its shape
but let it spring lush where it will, overspill
your stone-built walls, all in a night
when no one is looking
death of death, softened
air; reeds, grasses a graveyard
of old sculpture snow-huddled
in slow collapse—
blue-sky water glitters
blackbirds trill and trill
sudden, you were there—or
sudden, I caught sight of you
there, in the crabapple, too large,
proud, still, as it swayed and bobbed
feeders wild-gyrate in the wind
that lifted your chest feathers
like an impertinent hand
(that blaze of white!)
but majesty is ever unruffled
and if there is a king of birds
in this yard, your calm red eye
sleek head turning, turning claims it
fixing my restless form
in these shadows behind glass,
behind curtains, hold-not-holding
my breath and how long I gaze
but turn away first, wondering
what sign, omen, message
did you bring: that I should keep watchful?
be patient, unmoved? make eye contact
and my presence known, then fly on
when no one’s looking
curled up with wind
to shake the house-walls
the muse never roars
but trees bend over
branches break and fly
1.
finally the birds
invite me to their party
I bring sunflower
seeds found in bits and tatters
to scatter singing like thanks
2.
these found me wanting
green things curled beneath old leaves
still light-ly dozing
a still life in geese
on the pale stubble field
necks arched
we are all for the moment
motionless, stunned by sun
