Poetry from NER 42.1 (2021)
the bowerbird’s meticulous in love—another sex-u-al in-ter-lude, my old teacher intoned years ago in a class on Tennessee Williams, and we loved that, we’d go crazy. So the bowerbird keeps thieving, rearranging for his starry moment in that picnic grove
under trees in low scrub your treasure in that homage and lure fronting his love shack’s two clumps of tall grass making a narrow space for two birds and the deed, a wish and a lust, a little civilized privacy please, a charming mad answer even with fires about to nightmare.
But why why a glorious blue in the first place, this come-hither to keep a world going I guess I am best not knowing.