The Song of New Leaves

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In the broad afternoon
high in the tree, they come
they come by the dozens
and sing, all to
sing the song of
new leaves,
they come, the blackbirds
with red wings, brown
birds with striped wings
they sing, their orange
breasts bursting,
blue wings spreading
wide, enfolding
they sing
while high in the tree
the white dove moans,
swaying in the breeze,
high
oh! high
in that moon-struck tree
she moans
to the moon
nearly consumed
by the sky!
the sky
of perfect blue!

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