Robin tumbles a liquid through his throat.
Light, welcoming night, weaves
from the sky a fabric of flight
and pursuit.

Cat broods harm to finch
nesting on the fuse-box over the kitchen door.
The children’s hide-and-seek alarms—local,
wild—crowd this space stitching our noisy dark
to the scattering stars.

Thinning radishes at dusk,
I slap at blackflies swarmed round my head,
For this globed fruit—this red skin, acrid
white meat—I take their pinprick jaws
like drought and flood, those necessary
excesses.  Like love.

                                                Cobleskill 6/8/83
Previously published in Singing Frog Press chapbook, In Summer’s Garden, 1996
Print copy available by contacting me at  https://singingfrogpress.com/contact/