HONEYSUCKLE
A fragrant streamer, honeysuckle green and white
Picked in the warm, still afternoon and tied
With a bow of brown string,
Drifts down my sunset window pane.
Bird chatter is felled and ruffled
In the cold, damp skirts of the valley.
Single cheeps fall like thin arrows
Against the shoulders of the night.
Tack-tack, my room-clock taps,
A tactless imbecile
Not to know a moment's prayer
Free of metal teeth.
Thor, 1976