Ode To Small Birds
A shiver of Appalachia
superfine sugar of maple
windblown through the spine
tingling in a burst of aortic air
Inhaled as though fresh but by
the mountains rendered spent
the slightest reminder of
organic perpetuation fiercely painful
and entirely disembodied, each moment
blanketed by eternity and the hereafter;
primordial yet ethereal, a shadowy glimmer
of final destiny.
(While) in the treetops, the heron and the wren
speak peacefully as they observe
the rising of the sun.
--
For Lydia Davis and Susan McKeown
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