A Not-Tame Bird
Found this half done in a notebook. Often when I come back to things they seem mehh but this was ok. The danger in waiting to finish is that style inevitably changes - it’s pretty obvious which stanzas are new. Distance is good, but not too much..
She sits across from me wild and unbroken,
hair wandering, eyes lit up by coffee fumes -
the high features of her face, the force of life
that uncurls from her shoulder and animates
fine ligaments as she reaches for a napkin
call to mind old romantic poetry in which the victim
is subject to all manner of unlikely metaphor, but,
My love is like an untamed bird
that sits in open hand -
her talk is singing, if she sang
to me I could not stand it.
Such things were meant not for mere men
but rather kings and lords
who sat in ancient times enthroned,
rich raiment draped like skirts of snow
round thickset hills of shoulders,
iron necks, proud heads turned slow.
Their crown was justice, might their sceptre,
From their lips flowed truth and beauty,
On their tounges were verse and laughter.
In their cages dwelt such birds;
when their strong hearts were galled
from bearing beast and sinful man,
then for the bird they’d call;
And notes as clear as moonlight rang,
bright peaks and dewy threads of song
light-shuttled through the air,
until the violent crowd grew quiet;
until all else fell silent.