Set off by the light-governed timer

the lawn-sprinkler

waves a rain-wall of water

east and west.  A robin,

its bright beak still fledgling-yellow,

stands at the verge of the spatter-pattern

head tucked & tilted to hear imaging

loosed by the multiple resonances

a worm sets off as it shrugs itself

short/long/short in waves underground.

A plane goes over, high,

headed for Europe.  The robin

does not lift its head.

No worm-waves up there.

Marie Ponsot recently received the Aiken Taylor Award in Modern American Poetry, given annually by Sewanee Review. In 2013, she was awarded the Ruth Lilly Prize for lifetime achievement by the Poetry Foundation. Her Collected Poems was published in August by Knopf.

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Published in the May 6, 2016 issue: View Contents

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