Ancient Evening Ode

April 17, 2010

And to dream of the shoulders
of men in blue moonlight
wrapped in sheets like the
copses of birch trees in shade

and to know of the angles
of stars and of streetlights
and of nighttimes of trains
and the singing they raise

this the widest of fields
in the widest of places,
this the amplest grass
that alone is unmowed

these the tenderest thoughts
under tent tops of pleasure
these the princes of love
in the shallows of groves

this compulsion of sound
of white poppies amorphous
with a chickadee chatter
and a red bud of spring

every sing song of bird flight
that chips at the window,
every unrhymed dog song
that is blackened unwinged.

Lisa Jarnot