CONTINUITY

Volume 6, Collected Poems, 2007

Available for Purchase

Published by AuthorHouse®

The display is not simply of gesture, but of rising sun,
red pain rushing over a threshold,
a new birth come
in a flash of Etruscan yellow.

What do I know of Etruscans or of what birds think,
if they do,
in the first pink of morning?

The morning sends out its heralds.
Each bird is sent
with a message inked on its wings.

Each shoulder blinks
a code like the winks of an eye
or a shuttered window

Such flashes need but little decoding.

Unless I'm wrong,
the intent of the message is song

and the text is sent
in the frequency and range of Apollo:

yellow tremolo and red vibrato.

the bird in the maple sings brightly,
a sprightly bird.

Pretty girl, pretty girl, is says smartly,
What's new? What's new?

As for spring, cold winter holds dominion,
no hints in view

except for red whistles that come

and where branches, too,
are dotted with small red announcements
that very soon

winged promise shall whirl-a-gig down,
seeds all a-flutter
that humans, I'm sorry, can't eat,

nonetheless must sweep
from sidewalks and clean out of gutters.