Listening
I hear an owl cry
From its cold indigo.Intolerable vowels enter my heart.
From "Event" by Sylvia Plath
Morning: all wrens and finches whistling
or soft doves whoo-clucking on wires
bright cardinals bounce from fencetop
to branch to bloom. Each bird totes
its own vowels, sounds them in sunlight.
Another language to learn, all those
dialects! How they delight the air. Poor
desperate Sylvia, ruined, undone.
