CROSSBILL

Berry aslant a mismatched bill.

Gulp and trill. Through crossed teeth

and echoing yours my woodnotes spilled

           while you sang still.

Blood-red shed by the crossbill-scythe

where the blood-red breasts rebuffed the gale,

a true note in each crooked mouth

carrying up and down the hill

on each far-transported breath

(the crossbill’s beak will never seal) –

           carrying still.