mating robins
click across grass, hopping
so as not to signal full ascent.
those beaded neurons
wet with tradition, slick with practice.
one thing seeks another. summer fire
holds. we dream danger and the air
is so gentle, the sun unbearably
compassionate. i am plush stone fruit.
i am waiting for something to happen.
at the raised hand nature enters
with a toolbox and plies away.
i held a human brain once…so heavy.
hands everywhere you look.
solitary bows. bright orange
bellies. pollen.
insistence. shying.
mud. the arrows
that eat each other.
12 thoughts on "mating robins"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
love “i am plush stone fruit”
❤️ love this!
Terrific density in the language here. Your trademark mood, quietly intense. Your intuitive/associative leaps are landing. You are on your way.
Agree
with Marianne
I think about how twitchy birds always seem to be. This poem with short sentences and frequent pauses mimics that movement very well.
Beautifully written, a dreamy scene!
Good eye. I’ve seen bats mate (once, at a zoo, upside down) but never robins.
Tom, I think that’s a poem asking to be written. 😉
Wow!
A few years back I lived at a place where Vaughn’s Creek ran along one side of the parking lot. We always had mallards (and an occasional heron). Ducks seriously compete in courting, and in mating, sometimes they drown the hen!
Your robins are much more gentle, and your imagery is lovely.
“i am waiting for something to happen.
at the raised hand nature enters
with a toolbox and plies away.
i held a human brain once…so heavy.”
Metamorphosis/transformation/shape-shifting moves this poem into myth, and I’m a myth freak. I love this poem. Thank you for sharing it!
I too am a myth freak! Thank you for your kind comment!
Love:
we dream danger and the air
is so gentle, the sun unbearably
compassionate. i am plush stone fruit.