Seepage

Martin Bruel

ink is losing altitude 

wordflow descends to workflow 

my flickering roots spill syllables 

and hamper birdsong growth 

dew and sap through twilight drip 

 in honey-coloured hills plumed bards on branches serenade  with tender beak their thrills 

timid tweeting lends accent 

to machinated growling 

produced by morning hustle 

the daily shuffle of bodies into 

work and school and work 

rhyming respite lapses, barely hangs from sharp paper edges, drips into the river of murmur  

that flows incessantly 

poetry is ornithology 

poetry is slyvan 

 I forgot my birds 

 I forgot my trees 

 I never read scripture 

 I learned ancient Greek in Hollywood