• To Poets
• For LBK, as fine as any
• today the motto on a sundial
• predicts the lapse of night
• amid the garden of dispatches
• where you toil, excavating weeds,
• passing over named stones
• and choosing two to call a daughter by.
• now I am timid in soft air,
• held up with feathers, facing
• the stillness of a shaken dusk,
• overhearing murmurs from a cooling wind,
• waiting for the strands of evening
• to be brushed back along my ear.
• sing now beside today; braid them
• together in the air to me.