– 224 –

Fled is that music

All your sleeves
unravell'd.

You are losing hold
of your leaves; they

flake from you, wind-scaled
and thankful.

After so much
control, such falling

apart: memory's short term
then school's out—

the birds disperse and wheel
over alien corn.

A constant effort drains
your sense. Just sometimes you'll

overhear a longer singing
on viewless wings, his small

melodious plot staked out
from a bare branch in the ashfield.