Midsummer
Moon half full yet not half risen;
perhaps the year can pause
and arrest its progress,
downslope coming too fast,
winter calling so soon.
The beach season starts
and then the days begin to shorten?
Some injustice here, and my womb
is empty.
Birdsong in London
Be comforted. You may
be late for the train,
or overburdened; it may be
past the bedtime of your
friend’s son, but on the edge of things
there is a blackbird singing.
Hear the clear voice ring
through the early pre-dawn.
It finds you humoring a man when
you would rather sleep alone.
The blackbird is not asleep either.
He marks his terrain out the window,
waiting for a mate,
and perhaps for you also.