First the voices twitter from the graves like starlings
choirs of worms     or harmonizing skulls
& then graves open     & the dead walk home
& everywhere is home & light springs from dust

& the dust like a school of swallows suddenly swims
over gables of firmament,     shaped like a wing
This is dusk     the beginning of Rome, Byzantium:
a host of unkempt, furry voices     swirling     full throttle

(while golden elm leaves scatter against gray sky,
expiring sparks against lead-tempered walls,
a green-eyed goldfinch tucks away her beak
& hides within     my weak, my     white-haired heavens)

Henry Gould | Island Road 15
Contents | Mudlark No. 6