This poem is taken from PN Review 241, Volume 44 Number 5, May - June 2018.
Five Poems
Cycles
‘We love the things we love for what they are.’
Robert Frost
Blackbird’s gone
– until next year’s
bonanza. He left
a simple cup nest full
of dried twigs, hairs
– courtyard detritus
barely hanging on
a wisteria climber
that never flowers
its badly grafted roots
compressed, down
into our house’s under
– side. It’s been here
since we moved in
...
‘We love the things we love for what they are.’
Robert Frost
Blackbird’s gone
– until next year’s
bonanza. He left
a simple cup nest full
of dried twigs, hairs
– courtyard detritus
barely hanging on
a wisteria climber
that never flowers
its badly grafted roots
compressed, down
into our house’s under
– side. It’s been here
since we moved in
...
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