Undersong
two short poems
Matins
From a darkness most
palpable before first light,
in the tall pine by
my bedroom window, a bird
chants a line as clear as glass.
Undersong
Nothing other than
now—the breath
the poem breathes through.
This off-white fog, how
it deepens
bright green into blue.
My body, alive
in the thrill
of bewilderment.
Both poems are beautiful, as usual, but Matins is stunning. Not a word or line wasted.
Particularly liked Matins because I can relate to that.