Mockingbird

By | 15 July 2006

We live each other's death
and die each other's life,
borrowing a cold flame
from sycamore in early leaf.
This morning, after heavy rain

the street erupts with birds:
grackles sharpen swords
and cedar waxwings strip
the vines, declaring love and war.
With tail cocked, I guard the stoop

from strangers, ill-at-ease.
As sunlight strikes a wheel,
I think as Sulla thought??
hostis, host and enemy
to every sound that swells my throat.

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