Is It
river
flowing
beneath
the stars
or stars
flowing
over the
river
Goshawk
Opens above me
Calls nothing
Flies over the river
Almost hides itself
Into a dead elm tree
And I stand in place watching
Solitary, the books say —
In 200 yards I’m standing
Across from the bird
And it hates it —
Quick screech calls
Fly backwards
200 yards
Lands where it began
A Tree Full of Birds
for
Janine Pommy Vega
That’s
what I heard one morning
In
a no-nothing town between
Phoenix
and Tucson, where it
Appeared
desolate and desperate
With
a mall and motel and a big
Highway
running through it all
And
even the motel desk didn’t
Know
the name of the route number
Of
the highway when I asked the
Next
morning with a desire to go
To
the mountains north — as if no
One
went to the mountains from here —
But
I did, and before I left, hours
Before
I asked any questions, birds
By
the hundreds came to the trees and
Bushes
of this motel square, dipping
Even
into the swimming pool, and whether
It
was sunrise that lit each bird yellow
Or
if in fact they were yellow and each
Singing
magnificently in the coolness of
Daybreak
when I was awakened gladly
And
stepped out my door and onto a long
Balcony
to see and hear and feel the most
__________________
B O B A R N O L D
Once In Vermont
Gnomon
