It’s not that often that the poems which come from exercises are that good, but every once in a while it happens. I’m happy that the following poem is one of those. 

A COMPASS OF MIGRATION  

WITH A CARDINAL BEARING SEED

(for Kenneth & Kenny)

Unlike the sun

a scarlet warble 

might illuminate  

only one direction.  

Example: the pitch  

of a male cardinal’s form 

on a branch  

colors where it sounds.

Suppose it spots the sun  

as a tiny circle  

and seems to release

a crimson feather

as a falling leaf  

or as if hunting  

a high twig as perch.  

Say in sunlight 

the feathers of canaries

seem a solar sound.  

Should we then ignore 

what frequencies

a small bird might cull

from the orange & red calls  

beyond anything

(muffled chirps heard  

as a certain pitch 

of poetic feet or

wandering wings)  

breezing past the edge  

of the forest to carry

a seed whose shell

might crack & split

or leave a nest  

as a warm gust 

of flowing trills  

more felt than heard?  

Should it parse

these ruddy bursts all day?  

But what distant sun  

doesn’t yearn 

to flare its own brightness  

as a “Conjugation of Red”  

beyond any reason  

a father bird could beam

from his branch?