by Susanna Lang
And if I do call the right name, if woodpecker
is the name I’m searching for,
then is the rapid drumbeat I hear
down by the river
an answer to my call? Who does the cardinal
with that sweet falling note
sung over and over?
I should be able to find a cardinal among these bare
but even those flames are hidden. And the sparrows,
all but their bright voices. Sometimes a branch
will dip and rise,
as if a weight has settled for a moment. Sometimes
I can almost
see a wing out of the corner of my eye, too quickly gone
to say what color, much less a name.