Conspiracy of Sparrows

What are they heralding, perched along the curb,

our sudden shower an hour ago a river

stopping the drain I should have rushed to clean?

How can whatever day I might anticipate

be otherwise than this wondrous, unearned rejoicing

clear because their air is rising? And we all have wings?

Driving Home

—for Jimmy Block

I watched the bats of summer in their flight

above the warehouses, the moonlight passing through

their passing, the light which will outlast

this moment and the bats and all summers of the earth.

They shed a moment’s silver from their wings

to keep them there, in memory’s yesterday.

To spread them here, everlastings’ vanishings—