Dreaming of Sparrows

There go the sparrows

shot through with piercing arrows

cut in hollow marrows,

fall from fresh air

to the steel wheelbarrow

clanging like a bell in a Christmas carol

then rise up, spirit heir,

soar to paradise shoals.

—

I didn’t mean to dream

about sad bird things,

but the heat in the feathers in my palm

clung with me from the blankets

to the bath

to the blizzard wind:

rare soul,

how will you fare

above the clouds

in blue heaven?