§
It springs up from a fence
And its friends are on the
Grass, pecking
This one flies down
I keep walking
It digs me with its call
To something known
The scene carries its meaning
In the black birds
Like the morning when
They lined up on the wire
Leaving at the first of morning
The emptiness of a muddy afternoon
it calls to fill
the day with premonitions
Portrait of June 