View from a window

the birds pass -
the robin and the finch, the sparrow and the crow
they come, they go

the hours pass -
in carnal cells their winkling fingers soon unlock
they tick, they tock

the hurts pass -
as do the joys; in joint or alternating reign
they wax, they wane

the clues pass -
these smatterings, these prickled inklings from the deep
they wake, they sleep

the days pass -
and though I scrape their marrow or refuse them all
they rise, they fall

the birds pass -
wild shadows, gifted that they live but do not know
they come, they go