Tuesday, September 22, 2015


Round it comes!—
as it must come
every morning;

and in rounds too—swelling
around and around
and so-on-

compounding—thick as midnight, 
but somehow never obscuring 
the fleet light of its message.

And within those 
rounds—and flooding 
inward through each of those chosen 

plum dark stained windows, warm 
and warbling as it ever shall be—
comes the very same catechism.

This is the liturgy
of a few 
chirping birds—

when you too—choose to make your racket,
can you also?

make it so—