Poem Sparrowi have often heard of you
poem sparrow
in the chanting of the old ones
in the constellations of their tales
as they recite the long geometry
and genealogies of the world--
in their wise voices i know
all of your exploits and your promises
i have meekly heard
and cannot tell nor can i guess
where you are perhaps far away
in an ancient tree of folklore
will be your metaphor weaving nest.
Where do you live now
beyond knowledge and lore of man
where in the wisdom of the world’s tale
do you dwell...
The smiling girl in the village told me
how you would visit me
if i would give you gifts...
She even helped me
write with my dim witted fingers--
how my fingers seemed to blush--
as she held my shaking hand
and traced letters into
words on tiny scrapes of paper.
Sometimes i believe you were near
i hear your trilling
in scopeless fields of morning
sometimes i could swear
i hear your splendor
depths in your wing beats
as they caress the bare glass of my window.
Words grow like worms in the soil of my soul.
i know that someday you will come
for them on my crumbling window shelf.
i beg of you oh gracious poem sparrow
like in the tales of elder days
something small a tiny seed make a gift to me
in these latter days....
Anything you could give would be appreciated
i would protect and deeply venerate
but please leave behind a small seed for me
that could grow in my chipped and misshapen
flowerpot on the windowsill
that shall grow
into something like a flower
Nothing large for i only live
in small things. Please do not leave
a seed that will grow gigantic
through the private walls of my little narrow house
through the thatched roof of my memories
tangling itself with the shimmering stars
past the trellises of the moon..
Something small and intricate i would beg.
Like a well spelled
cornerstone so small that it
is wonderful in its unassuming complexity.
A simple flower that would
in the darkness glimmer
and effuse me with serenity of happenstance
sweetly shine in the cold darkness
as the night lost its stars.
Give to me a little flower
whose petals would
warm me in the winter
when there are no logs of wood
for my little hearth to gnaw upon.
My comfort in the long month of solitude
as snow scratches at my simple door .
In the blasting summer it could grow
like a spiritual umbrella
unfolding its petals
giving me shade
from the desires of the sun
and my own foolishness.
So dear poem sparrow please
make it small and also simple.
i promise i will always feed you
and make gifts of words to you.
My dear flowing sparrow --
you shall never go hungry
for i have sold my sweet tan cow
and bought a dictionary
with the silver coins
so mysterious poem sparrow
though you may be hidden somewhere
in this narrow world
of shifting shadows
bidding your time
at your choosing
you shall never
go without for i will
humbly feed you. ......
