Monday, 3/11/2013

Bright sky. The sycamore rising from its
   center of the field   still leafless

where hawks keep watch

          above the charcoal burn
above stubby plum trees
winter grass

    oaks half-circle, one might say
bow ---
beyond the fence, the neighbor's
sheep and goats.

roosters flap up to the fencepost
to crow 
(what I once thought was the creak 
of a water pump)

     is this a development?

the beehive pulled out of the shed
discarded

From this house, from the "parochial"
body
     in darkness the screech owl
            foretells quakes, "2.8"

a being treads on the roof
or underground


Lines from my bookshelf:

All the world's light fits inside an eye.
The rooster crows and his song lasts longer than his wings.

---Federico Garcia Lorca, "Nocturne of Empty Space," Poeta en Nueva York, p. 107.