POEMS/ An Irruption of Pine Siskins
An Irruption of Pine Siskins
A “trembling” of tiny finches
were ravaging my thistle sock last week,
emptying its contents every day.
Arriving as a group
they fed communally,
each striving for a perfect perch,
their rapid back and forth
from branch to feeder
a recapitulation in a fugue of motion,
its theme and counterpoint,
developed in their frantic need
for food. Now they have left
as suddenly as they appeared,
driven—as are we all—
by their struggle to survive,
their agitated flight,
a constant trémulo,
that shapes their definition.
From Migrations (Antrim House, 2013)
A “trembling” of tiny finches
were ravaging my thistle sock last week,
emptying its contents every day.
Arriving as a group
they fed communally,
each striving for a perfect perch,
their rapid back and forth
from branch to feeder
a recapitulation in a fugue of motion,
its theme and counterpoint,
developed in their frantic need
for food. Now they have left
as suddenly as they appeared,
driven—as are we all—
by their struggle to survive,
their agitated flight,
a constant trémulo,
that shapes their definition.
From Migrations (Antrim House, 2013)
