Singing

Singing

Only with the rhythm of salmon

          slapping at waterfalls

     at noonday can our voices,

alert like some drum major's,

do what the marigold wants:

     to teach us about sad crows'

     songs: 'Shift beak to groom

     only white mites without

an arm or two.' Who can believe

that amongst flung plumes, dots

     of purple like blood on staves

can sprinkle like claret on sand?

Your superstars aren't giants

          jamming for their savings.

[sonnet]