—for Seamus Heaney
Each dark night carries its own cloud
to measure the flight of birds.
Seals slip upriver to steal souls
& sing the memory of Sweeney to sleep.
It is difficult to single out a shadow
of an individual tree in the forest.
In steamy cafés, the refrain
of silverware & coffee cups
solitary scores orchestrated
simultaneously while the canvas
of vertical history
is painted on the walls of the living
in the streets, & buried in the rift
of the Olduvai Gorge.
1983
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