The lamp
Before the lamp was lit
we sat completely still
A crow’s rasping voice
and a sudden scent of clover
with a sweetish warmth
through this rising dark.
Water, completely still.
The earth, it too tranquil.
The bird flew
as close as it could
over its own shadow
And the bumblebee, faithful
friend of many summers,
crashed against the window pane
as if it were the wall of the world
And the dive dapper
flew from lake to lake
It could be late
or early
in various lives in various lives
it could be in a butterfly’s shadow
In the shadow of any life.
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