The wind sloshes against the locust leaves, as
inside a cypress a warm-feathered wren
wrings out her song against the breeze:
Teakettle, tea kettle, kitty oo, kitty oo, diddly diddly diddly,
then a broomlike sound as if rasping against the bark.
What is this urge I have to capture life in words?
Do the wren and I share language to declare
clear joy in light, or push away the dark
of oblivion and fear?
Lee Roscoe is the Cape Cod correspondent for Artscope magazine. She lives in Brewster.
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