Broken broken broken
my high gray room.

How did it happen?
My hill on wet stilts.

Who made off with
the sudden searing roots?

They were showing us
how it feels to belong.

Thus a hermit thrush
at the end of summer,
whose bog occupies the spot

where 8000 years ago
a castle of ice dissolved
into a watery keep.

Latter-day invaders have left
their jagged ladders
for the woodpeckers

& perfectly preserved
in the tannic waters,
their empty nets.

2 Replies to “Migratory”

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