This poem is taken from PN Review 128, Volume 25 Number 6, July - August 1999.
The Redbird Hexagon1 Redbird
It waylaid my eye
On the loose,
As it obscurely scaled
The staff of a Venetian blind.
Now behind the open slats,
Beyond the windowpane,
Busy among the cedar forks
A figure was distinct:
Beyond the books, their spines,
Outside, and south,
A throat, a thorax. -
To judge
By the silhouette,
It should be red. It could be.
Then how is presence felt?
...
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