Today's poem is by A. E. Watkins
A paradise forecloses once an apertureno narrative but trees
are saying birds between them. Sun through green leaves like green
stained glassa bright room, the birds spoken in through
a windowtranslating between two
weathers: the birds as captives or portents.
The forest and feathered currents
coursing its chambers; what to think
of open doors, the emptied sanctuary Your trilling
lingers the rafters now branching several scenes.
No narrative but birds on wires humming between
poleslining the streetfront doors and absence cut in each
tree to let wires through: an entrance by which
a blood-thick night can pass.
The birds with beaks pulled to breasts, their small claws clasp
a wilderness humming sun-lit rooms and flitting.
Copyright © 2009 A. E. Watkins All rights reserved
from Copper Nickel
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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