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.

Also by this author

Please email comments to [email protected] and join the conversation on our Facebook page.

Published in the May 6, 2016 issue: View Contents
© 2024 Commonweal Magazine. All rights reserved. Design by Point Five. Site by Deck Fifty.