TEARS OF SLEEPING BIRDS (FINAL VERSION)

 

TEARS OF SLEEPING BIRDS

[de lacrimis Christi

tears of sleeping birds this evening I heard or read

from the National Geographic blurb, tears of sleeping

birds on rare occasions…

moths sip the tears of sleeping birds in Brazil.

do they get their fill I wondered of salt,

of the disappeared too early.

it seemed so fairy tale real, disturbing

embroideries wrung from a fanciful tree

miraculously inferred; subconsciously

a wilderness resonance brought to bloom

vibration set, to crystal tuned and shattering

to one gold leafed in an

unsettling country

milk and honey dried

where something dear has died

where coral moths are sought

and seldom caught sipping the

tears of sleeping birds

what do the birds dream then.,

that there is no more sorrow

in the world?

or the utmost burglary possible

has been sanctioned.

the heart is a lake that rises

for the small bird fluttering in its sleep

incapable of the grief necessary.

who will deliver me now

from the fugitive years ahead

where nothing more can be said, referred to

but “the tears of sleeping birds…".

shall we quaff a thimbles worth

for everything on earth, for

what remains in that refrain-

that suddenly am I reminded of

a trembling name or two;

an exquisite residue

dewdrop poised on a branch

as if it were Song:

before the sign of the dark sun;

Nadezhda Mandelstam

speaking of herself and Akhmatova

after Osip had gone said,

in those days we had no tears left…

trembling over a handful of poems

the moths, drinking their tears.

the moths, drinking their tears.

mary angela douglas 24 january 2019;rev. 17 march 2019;22 may 2024