How do you draw inside the sky?
Is there a color, whisper, or wing
of energy … a sigh?
A startled bluebird on a twig, shredding seeds;
they fall like sawdust as he watches.
How do you put form to these?
A leaf is curling in a river
drought-gifted with rocks.
Ducks find the only water
and circle until dizzy around the ripple.
Laugh with me it’s spring.
The earth’s quiet scream
is most restless at night
when I dream;
not telling the pattern,
blotted, forgotten, lost;
probably just an ordinary three words.
But I have never spoken before,
or snored like some loud humming bird,
awake and sipping nectar from the heart.
I have not repeated when asked,
as though any idiot should know,
earth’s quiet scream.
Still, the morning glory is creeping,
uncaring of the things it covers;
one could say careless of the drying grapevine.