Fountaining lobelia: we hang a pair
on the porch to welcome summer and ward
off broken bones. Purple finches weave
a perfectly symmetrical nest. The male
perches on the guy wire and sings.
I dream the Rembrandt Mary cradling,
shepherd’s flute and the muffled lowing,
the infant’s cooing in the cattle-clogged
room, the birds' haunted singing, sun whirling
waters, trees sucking dreams from stone.
Are we vanished into a pure weather,
evaporation of a drifting tone?
Whirl your nest, center-spun, of grass, feather
and thistle— fountaining shadows, we hang a pair
to the sun-pounding, hand stroking hair,
oh care for us. Flute song, fingers dancing
sound holes, the cry: infant-sweet song of air.