close
The Idea of Order at My Address by Jim Gustafson

The Idea of Order at My Address by Jim Gustafson

Beyond late hours of light
no singing, no music.
I can hear the water drip
from the downspout.
It is not the same sound
as ocean surf. No masts
rock to sleep in a harbor.

There are trees, though.
Their boughs, some moments
pretend to sway the way
small boats do at anchor.

Nor is there a woman
at a shore, indifferent to the ear
of anyone who listens to her song.
Her voice touching places
seldom seen.

There is an egret, though,
who jabs the soil and wades
through fresh cut blades
of my lawn. The bird makes no sound.
Only a Red-Tailed Hawk interrupts
the air with an aria to the woods.
It is clear. It is their world.

Tell me, if you know, why
when the hawk sang,
I turned and went inside,
and left the trees to listen
to keener sounds.

The Sea and the Honeycomb by Peter Shippy

Head under Water by Neil Serven

Leave a Response