Possibly because a poet's
always there
to witness,
invariably, this
mid-morning caucus
of grackles
will swoop down
from the humid sky
in irridescent ripples,
then spread their
long tails, puff their
black bodies,
and all at once begin
to castigate him
from the park lawn:
even more
uncongenial than ours,
which, for obvious
reasons, you have
long-since given up on;
but the pull
to be complete is ever
too sweet to resist,
and so—
before you even
notice,
you will
feel the need
to finish it.