Ruby-capped finches dart and twitter
through the jasmine bramble
o lark, o
swallow, o hawk
o soul of myself here arrived again
on a morning in April
a morning of dew and pollen and shine
a morning of infinitesimal, abundant perfection
Does the golden stamen of the calla
wrapped in her round white robe know
she will be rumbled by a bumblebee at nine
fluttered by a swallow tail at noon?
Heedless, wanton glory—
so outright, so one-pointed
up from fine shoots pulsing through the earth—
to come to this, before my early morning eyes
my willing, beauty-holding heart
o birds o
trees o lilac bushes yes