But how (and whither)
are birds translatable
notes in a
language, that emerges
mornings
the throaty throbbing of the titmouse
shrieks of the silverhead heron in
fleet-winged flight: songsemblance, a
swift seaimplant: stiff reeds and pond
behind the mosscurtain, until the sun a- (later
de)scends, a bit of morningwind shows
(two rapid eighths)
that joy, that now
day has come again
birds
appearing
like an untouchable
sensemoving venture of
god or
mother nature
something perceptibly
transcribable
(time)
singswhen the feather falls (the hand
that pinion
of the composer)
This branch—trembling—is empty
Haltingly your
and my fingers draw
more
sky, ascension and
air than we
could ever breathe

pure as the air's blue tapestry
landscape
the silent ceremony
he set his right foot upon the sea
birds, a sign
henceforth shall there be no more time
purely rings a
final tone, angel of the
apocalypse

Translation: Thomas Murphey