Lately in this blog, too much memory and not quite enough poetry. So here is one for this season.
Human, Avian, Vegetable, Blood
Today, three days before Christmas I had planned to cut some berries From the toyon bush in the yard. For three years it has not done well. This is the first year it produced A decent crop. But this morning A flock of thirty migrating Robins appeared. And before noon Every berry had been eaten. This year we will buy our foliage As usual. And the symbols Of incarnate flesh we tended All year will be flying, mingled With pale hot bird blood, high over The barren Mexican mountains.