Wren-song in trellis: a light ecstasy of butterflies courting,
Nudging and tickling of ants and spiders,
Flutter of wings and seeds quaking,
Little crabs slipping into watery craters -
All that diving and pitching and swooping.

Liquids pursue me, notes and tremors:
I am undone by the gurgle of babies and pitchers,
A dried stalk in a welter of sinuous grasses,
Wanting the quiet of old wood or stone without water.


 = David Juda