The Energy of Singing

I’m so happy you’re coming back
I can’t do anything     much.
Energy crawls when I want to leap
I start one thing then start another
drop that & give in     spaced.

Without a taskmaster hovering over me
with my time at my command
nothing gets commanded
but the frequently heralded birds in Spring
ecstacy of warbling & sing-song spark whistle
sharp glissando grosbeaks with more energy in song
than me putting up a few things
in the chaos of my old study
then raking half-heartedly
month-old prunings
then trying to vacate the greenhouse
of the unwanted plethora of sacks, pots, compostables,
gallon plastic milk jugs, etc.etc. Mess

I can’t mount my shoulders against
any wheel any whirl anything but maybe air
or a pillow
waiting for you, space is
dismantled.

Only that grosbeak—black-white-gold
only the bird & Shelly’s wonderful presence
of stanzaic beauty
& youthful ooing and ah-ing verve
Romanticized. Keeps me going.
I wait     slow     unturning     time
till you get here
& lift, my life
begins to sing again.



/19Apr94#2