Metrosphere 2004-2005
Sonnet For a wren
Better yet to sit on a branch yellowing full in October,
waiting on unspoken questions while the wind presses you
toward the window. Warm enough just yet to ponder beginning
a family, while those around you begin to curl, fold, close.
This will come again. The yellow leaves, the feathers brown and red.
The branches must be weary now, after shading and stretching all summer long.
But weariness didn't leave this gathering soft, silent, almost whispering
against the glass. Wisdom did the work, each leaf retreating into meditation.
The little wren juts her beak, shifts her head, searching for
the unspoken answers everywhere at once in the dappled autumn light.
Her house will become a hoarse chorus of branches scraping against the window
in bitter winter crescendos. Ruminate while it's warm, wren. Think what it means:
the union of your feet around that branch, the gathering of October sunlight,
the way the leaves turn brightest just before the world turns white and grey.