Robin, Spring
The robin, claws hidden in
tall grass, hops forward and sings
a solitary note, hops
once more, stopping to sing two
notes, which loop through the air, then
tilts its head to eye the ground,
flies off to a nearby tree.
Thanksgiving Morning
Red flowers
on their stems
in a glass
vase of fresh
water on
a wooden
table where
a petal
has fallen
ā autumn sun,
a wayward
guest, shines through.
______________________________________________________________
Burt Kimmelman has published seven collections of poetry, the most recent The Way We Live (Dos Madres Press, 2011); Gradually the World: New and Selected Poems, 1982 ā 2013 (BlazeVOX [books]) is forthcoming. He has also published a number of books of criticism and scores of essays on medieval, modern, and contemporary poetry. He teaches at New Jersey Institute of Technology.