Red

The human world bays,
grinds teeth and wheels, spewing smoke,
millions aping Kronos.
I search the mud and ash
for the red of the last flower.

Thrush

Thrush

Through the evil news
the times of dread, I come back
to listen to the thrush in
the poplars’ topmost mast,
singing, fearless, into night’s teeth.

The wind in the night

The wind in the night

The wind in the night
blew the clouds away, the rain,
it howled with a wild wolf-voice
for things we never see,
not even in the light of day.

Le vent dans la nuit
a soufflé fort et hurlé
au ciel son loup-lamento,
pour tout ce qu’on ne voit pas,
même sous la lumière du jour.

At the day’s end

At the day’s end

And at the day’s end,
all I hold are memories,
the day done, past, its light fled.
The thrush’s song echoes
in the dark of night, in my dreams.

Sometimes a blackbird

Sometimes a blackbird

Sometimes there is song
at evening when the day fades,
before the dark comes and sleep;
blackbirds conjure the light,
drawing out the course of the sun.

Sometimes I can see

Sometimes I can see

Sometimes I can see
only the unseens, ghost-birds,
phantom-trees, the ones we’ve lost,
the repetitive song
of thrushes, their lonely voices.

Some winter nights

Some winter nights

Some winter nights, spring
winds pour from an unseen sea,
balmy, sweeping leaf litter,
ruffling feathers. Birds, fox,
suspicious, sniff the air for frost.

Winds sniff at the hedge,
combing unease through feathers,
fur shivers at the strangeness.
Meadow basks in silence,
moon, stars, wind-rippled grass, silver.

Sometimes night

Painting Edvard Munch.

Sometimes night

Sometimes night comforts
with its dark sheltering wing
and only pale stars for light.
Forgetfulness murmurs
a gentle lullaby and sleep.

Sometimes the heart

Sometimes the heart fills
too full to withhold weeping,
to dam a river of tears,
the song of a blackbird
enough to fill the sky with clouds.

Sometimes

Sometimes the light falls
sweet and soft among the leaves
and fires dull brown, red gold.
Ranked green spears, spring-bright, mass—
the army to vanquish winter.