Song Bird

Mr. Bones watches
the poet putting
a poem together,

like a bird
pecking at the seeds,
arranging them

before a meal,
each seed has its place,
each place its time.

It is a measly meal
that must be made sufficient.
With no heart,

a heart must be made.
The blind man
must have vision,

the mute
must speak poetry.
Robert Creeley has flown off

to
another
tree.