Michael McClintock

 

   
           
                                                  the warbler singing
                                                  over there in the plum tree --
                                                  so clear a voice
                                                  it must have drunk very deeply
                                                  at some pool freshened by rain


                                                  fresh for work,
                                                  pants belted tight,
                                                  head clear,
                                                  I wade into the windblown
                                                  foam of the morning prairie

                                                
                                                  where the sun rises
                                                  and where it sets --
                                                  the things I learn first
                                                  in each place I come to live,
                                                  making my home between them


                                                  spring settles in . . .
                                                  outside the office window
                                                  a view of bricks
                                                  slowly and steadily
                                                  greening with moss


                                                  spring settles in . . .
                                                  outside the office window
                                                  a view of bricks
                                                  slowly and steadily
                                                  greening with moss


                                                 
the way it looks
                                                  like a dragon fallen
                                                  from the sky,
                                                  this uprooted tree
                                                  alone on the moor


                                                  a dragonfly
                                                  above the reeds
                                                  motionless
                                                  but for the wild greens
                                                  it vibrates in the sun


                                                  one bird
                                                  on a fence post
                                                  singing with all its might
                                                  is all it takes, and mountains will
                                                  turn green



                                                  beginning
                                                  with a lump of clay
                                                  wet with spit
                                                  my fingers shape
                                                  a rain goddess

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