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Wednesday, January 30, 2013

The Birds of Mrs Álvarez

I hear the birds of Mrs Álvarez
Chattering in Apartment 802:
Who can make out what their glad language says?

They live in cages, not in winter trees:
Have they green plumage, streaked with red and blue?
I hear the birds of Mrs Álvarez

Cheering the cloudiest of Saturdays
With speech that's pure and beautiful and true.
Who can discern what their light logic says?

And every time this blithe concerto plays,
I start to smile, almost as if on cue!
I hear the birds of Mrs Álvarez

Weave a spontaneous train of sound that strays
Through realms of wonder and makes all things new!
Who can tell me what this quick music says?

Their song has force beyond all prophecies --
An avian oracle and her retinue!
I hear the birds of Mrs Álvarez:
Who can make out what their glad language says?

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Cold


"Is not so bad. Is just like home!" So say
my grey-haired Russian neighbours, Gleb and Anna,
on bright and icy single-digit days.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Evening

Vesperal hesitation. Pausing at dusk,
allowing wordlessness to get in edgewise,
the silence that is greater than ourselves.

A Young Woman of Boston

Elegant as pi to the hundredth decimal, beautiful as a quadratic equation, close as Cambodia, distant as winter, precise and mathematica...