Talk to Me

Today,
out of all the times
we've met,
the wind becomes a gale
and the robins feign ignorance
about my choice of song.

I sing with them
when all facetiousness
bears it out
till the very end
and their persons
only help in
downing
garish fears.

***

A
hammock
finds
inscriptions from
a heavenly hand
fall on you
like a leaf.

I rifle
through those
signs
as if my very life
depended on
this
adventure.

***

On a clothesline,
a drying letter
from ten nations
away
persists,
wringing water
from its eyes.

I give the robins
more of the same:
two songs
and a pleasant sense
of travel
on the higher
way.