With summer eggs the birds repeat themselves:
Nest-building territories, wars of air,
Under the eaves another nursery
Of pipes and whinneys, of voiced demands.
One night a cardinal let go with song
Standing on a tree for long, red minutes,
And singing its heart out (so we thought) its red
More plush with every breath, with every change
Of light, the summer evening coming on
Before it silently flew into the trees.
The Cardinal
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