Songbirds Wake To Crows

Do you wake to songbirds or do you wake to crows? These crows won’t leave the loon be. The loon alone makes sounds like laughing.

It was not long ago when people didn’t leave. The stoves, the roast, the eggs and the yellow fat, the wool and the milk and the mutton. All breathing together.

The pond freezes. The pond thaws. The pond is the pond.

The farmer, his donuts and sunburned neck. The nomads. The walkers, the riders, the many wives. The cruelty.

Do you warm the cup before you pour the tea?

It smells like sheep, when we are wet. It smells like spring, when we stand in the sun.

In the shower you killed a spider. It spun a web as it fell slowly from the ceiling to the shampoo water around your feet. Then you stood naked in front of the stove until you were dry.

Islands do not float. Islands are what was not flooded. The sea birds lay their eggs there.

The light moves along the walls, over the floorboards. The pie is done.

All of us cooking by ear. Wearing our wool.