I have narrowed it to a plain place
less talk, less folk.
Today I watched a man walk down a field
along a rope of wall, its stones
still hugged by melting snow that made
fish spines on the emerging green.
I have learned about finches and moons,
walked only by stars, marvelling
how their still, cold light felt warm to me.
The frost opens old cuts but here
I have no past and the land
arched between that life and this
is generous, like the speckled breasts
of these spring-hungry thrushes.
from "The Dancing Sailors"