Tagore Variations
2
I don’t know
the words—
and to this I came to sing.
Played scales and rudiments
but still inside my wordlessness, a fledgling
nudged from nest to branch, and when I try the air
cottonwoods grow steep, leaves clutter.
I fall with a chirp, listening
like mockingbirds huddled on a log.
Trill, someone: chut and yeep.
Teach me yawp and keew.
This grass is growing tall and deep.
Sing, someone. Teach me ahem,
teach me amen and in-between.
I’m here, shivering in the blades, and you
wonder of wings in other trees, you
person walking and pausing
at the wooden foot of trees—because you’re here
we’re in this together.