Where I wished the wrens
the wasps the face
of the nestbox wrapped
like a mummy its mouth
occluded saying
oh oh beneath
the grotesque paper
mask saying
where are my wrens
my beauties where
their perfect song?
Where I wished the smooth grass
the gopher’s mounds
fresh each morning soft sepulchers
shrouding some dank mystery and
where I wished you
who all my life I never
met this space shaped
in the image I never saw
Yet I wished my sick hen
well and she lived and
I wished my dying father
dead and he died and
there were the wrens after all
because the hen loved her life
and still could live it while
those beauties
were singing
somewhere
their perfect song
Meditatio Ephemera 