for
Gilbert
Fountains light frothy clusters that scatter and fall,
Spattering the sidewalk, porch and lawn
With spots and splashes of bright yellow.
Now in the cool gray light of dawn,
The mockingbird flings out his long,
Steep-scaled, abrupt, and convoluted arias.
Unseen beneath the vertical glare of noon,
All through the deepening blue hours,
Into night’s velvet blackness and the moon’s
Stark chiaroscuro, and long after
Sobs, throbs, trills, spills and spurts and oozes
His extravagant bel canto.
No love duet, this solo burst from the male heart
That knows no rest and needs no consolation—
This is art forcing life, life forcing art
Out of the purest desolation.
