
a bird in a bush:
does it know it’s worth
half a bird in hand?

a bird in a bush:
does it know it’s worth
half a bird in hand?
No hawk hangs over in this air:
The urgent snow is everywhere.
The wing adroiter than a sail
Must lean away from such a gale,
Abandoning its straight intent,
Or else expose tough ligament
And tender flesh to what before
Meant dampened feathers, nothing more.
Forceless upon our backs there fall
Infrequent flakes hexagonal,
Devised in many a curious style
To charm our safety for a while,
Where close to earth like mice we go
Under the horizontal snow.
The light of a streetlamp
Streams through the stained glass,
And colors spread stably
Over surfaces below.
Then car after car
Pass by that bar,
And the colors are
Climbing and crawling,
Shifting and sprawling,
As headlamp light, briefly,
Dances through the window --
Kaleidoscope swirling the
Shockingly bright colors
In short-lived arcs.
The window was designed
To evoke a cathedral,
And deny all debauchery...
Oh, how it's failed.
A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July --
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear --
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream --
Lingering in the golden gleam --
Life, what is it but a dream?