Free and equal,
I don’t write fiction, a dream book, a novel
with a pen and shovel,
I write a poem about what I do not know
because I want to know.
It’s time I let friends and grandchildren know
I stole a branch of laurel from the Delphic Oracle.
I push myself out of my way.
My poem may be something like
a walk in the forest, a serpent’s strike,
the 3rd of May, or come what may.
About grammar I’ve nothing to say,
a shepherd knows
a verb’s not a noun in sheep’s clothing.
In my soul’s playground, today I wrestle
in blue skies with clouds of meaning, loathing
the down to earth. I hear a sparrow’s love call
in a noisy city – a sweeter call
deep in the woods, a love call without words.
Lord, I want to understand the languages of birds.
—2018