the song comes from a long way off
slow as an old man making water
like a sort of sky
with one persistent cloud
the song brings its own weather
to a climate of fear
filling every redbreast
with territorial ambitions
until a brown thrasher
gets a hold of it and shakes
upside upside down down
get rid of it get rid of it
as the trees launch their fleets
unfurl their sails
cells vibrate in concert
each at its own pitch
a music not meant for any ears
this side of eden
where pollen still turns
our jack boots green
