Chamber Music

cutting clover in wide swathes, the
machine sputters and chokes, sighs and rests beneath the sun

how much better for the cows to
eat it, my blue-eyed boy, your
limbs mirroring mine as we walk along.....

four chambers, there are, four, and
each a room and place and time
unto itself entirely, the clock stopped
still in some, the ringing of the
hours halted, replaced by breaths, the
whispers marking time long since spent

each with their own inhabitants, these
boarders, pale chimera of what once was,
brought to life in an instant with a word,
a taste, a scrap of song the meat and
bread and wine to nourish the blood

a little longer
a little longer

the evening chorus in the green, in the green,
sun glistering down........
the blue darkens to dark, dark, the
sweetest song is a nightsong, the
dearest words those remembered.