April Bartaszewicz Poet Concrete

You Who Are Literal

You who are literal even in love 
who treats each work 
as journey men to a fact,
consider the ambiquity of birds;
the ones pentemeter for instance
the jay who names
his territorys aloud _ _ _
you label those marital cries song
and the weather:
the operatic fall of a snow
burries alive with it's grace notes
the roots of trees
we are only translators, uneasy
               unequiped
in the hungry dawn
strange syllables stain our mouths,
like berries picked deep
in the woods. Bitter or healing
poisonous or sweet
how are we to say?

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