to the sparrows
like the serpent
to the woman—except,
not to tempt, just
to tell them
they were naked;
thought I'd watch
them soar up at once
to cover themselves
with shorn cloud scraps.
But instead,
two dozen
hard black eyes
fixed mine back
from the crab-
apple branches,
and asked me not:
who told you
what that was?
but: son of soil, doomed
to work the earth—
who could have cursed you
to sing
such a tuneless,
lean, and unlovely
song to us?
