Song
Here’s the morning again saying, look, the sun is in the trees,
earth’s hair tangled birded—
the garden a hive wound with color, dressed with names:
dill, cabbage, mustard, phlox, echeveria, aeonium—
evergreen, flowering once. White moths flag lavender, finches bury
in a berry tree, their beaks tear sapling branches,
each bite plucked, leaves shower—even the birds can’t
get the world in their mouth without trouble.