For Dorian Speed
Against the pane, a single bell-clap tolls
A bird’s death-dive – a ringed finger’s
Tap of bone, quick to attend –
To search, to find something out there
Between the spokes of the seasons’ wheel,
Or within the shadow of the wings
Now balled up into a pillowed fist
Where falls confusion, dead leaves
Scattering celebration. At center:
A plush cluster bristles calm –
And the wind gently strokes its grief,
Hushing leaves and combing trash
Across the yard – impedimenta,
Ephemera – newsprint
And husks of imperfect commerce
All put to the discipline of a snow fence,
Plastered there until borne away
By the violence of windy petition.
Here bird fell. The greying window fills
With sky’s contrition.
Forgive me. And trees reach up
In shivering profiles.
Forgive me. And reconciled,
The cold wet ground makes a final plea.
Forgive me. Lingering feathers
Flecked with blebs of blood
Dab the sill.
The desire to recollect is strong.
It has been so long
What did you find out there?
Nothing but the arointed air
And at your fingertips?
Nothing but autumn months in eclipse
On the tip of your tongue?
The wind and leaves the wind and trash
The barren days the taste of ash
And these are my sins.