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I have time. It is evening, and Spring
And I have time to water the garden,
And plant more rows
As the sun settles
Among the nest of birds’ woven singing
Persistent quiet doves

A blackbird rips past my ear
Into the weeds by the fence.

Impatient it lands in the next row but one
Eats and flies away.

 

And in that startled time
It is not quite dark
But colder
And night almost quiet;
Birds not silent,
But fewer;
The nest untangles into instances
Distance opens
Slows.

I have time to listen.
Chatter.
Sweet.
A virtuoso in a nearby tree.
A pigeon or a small dog
Or a child at last play