Vanishing

Forests subtropical,

rain I'll never see

Owls and eagles,

feather and prey

Red finches from rafters

the day their children fly

Columbine swinging wild

over Sweet William

Scythe of midsummer, half wing

dipping into pine: moon cradle

Secret cyst of many months

the kindly surgeon slices

easily before noon

Swelling, the ice, the still lip

Mercy!

Trills of the mockingbird delivered

on time, spilling over distance

Deft as departure for the sea

when the mind's made up-

Drowsy corner of a dream:

an empty-bellied cold New England stove,

love stolen

(a sleight effect, they say,

a wish too close to morning)

At the hollow of the neck to plant

a kiss upon the shadowed man

surprised by what is burning:

Blush

of something waking

that can never

Stay.