Wren Songs

It’s an installation: Wrens pinned like brooches
to the trees, singing, their eyes glass beads.

     Shake a branch, be wary of what falls.

In the unofficial spring, sunshine plays xylophone
on the lawn. The trebly notes are mouths

     singing oh, oh, oh. A paper boat leads

the children downstream, through countless
shades of green—spring, grass, moss, forest.

     Light plus one green makes another.

The exhibit rotates seasonally. Soon enough
the children will instead be foxes, the greens

     will rust. Someone will strike the wren set.

But for now their songs saturate the air.
If the message is urgent, they’ll tell again tomorrow.

Originally appeared in The List of Dangers


The Well Speaks of Its Own Poison

The Well Speaks of Its Own Poison