Mest lästa ▸
Midday heat
the slow downward spiral
of a leaf
black butterfly
wings still damp
from the tomb
cooling breeze
the black-throated green warbler’s
other song
Dikter om ämnet: warbler
Dikter om ämnet ”warbler” på Poets.by.
The Hollow (14)
off-trail in the woods
in spiderweb season
walking mindfully
a loop of grapevine
rising from the horsebalm patch
the scent of lemons
fall warbler
I pish as if fluent
in bird mysteries
all its offspring
on the other side of the deer fence
the big pine
Counting warblers
Hooded, worm-eating,
cerulean, black-throated green.
I tick off the names
like prayer beads,
and later, when a black snake
rears up like an instant tree,
I remember all
the deadly false Edens,
the acres of glass.
Violet Hill
The first surveyor—1795—
labeled this mountain Violet Hill.
Did he study it in the blue distance,
or see right at his feet
the crowds of violets fluttering
under the attention of the rain?
A warbler just back from the tropics
sings quietly, as if trying to locate
all the notes.
Return of the warblers
Mayapples are coming up:
green parasols shedding
the soil as they open.
A coyote trots across the road,
looking back
over its shoulder.
Above the trembling surface
of the vernal pond,
the first warblers’ buzzy songs.
Evening Waterfall
What was the name you called me? —
And why did you go so soon?
The crows lift their caw on the wind,
And the wind changed and was lonely.
The warblers cry their sleepy-songs
Across the valley gloaming,
Across the cattle-horns of early stars.
Feathers and people in the crotch of a treetop
Throw an evening waterfall of sleepy-songs.
What was the name you called me? —
And why did you go so soon?