Photo by D.R. Wagner, Sacramento
Perhaps the accident of a bird
crossing the green window, a simultaneous phrase
of far singing, and a steeplejack
poised on the church spire, changing the gold clock,
set the moment alight. At any rate, a word
in that instant of realizing catches fire,
ignites another, and soon, the page is ablaze
with a wildfire of writing. The clock chimes in the square.
All afternoon, in a scrawl of time,
the mood still smoulders. Rhyme remembers rhyme
and words summon the moment when amazement
ran through the senses like a flame.
Later, the song forgotten, the sudden bird
flown who-knows-where, the incendiary word
long since crossed out, the steeplejack gone home,
their moment burns again, restored
to its spontaneity. The poem stays.