Because they just got out of the stream,
there are droplets of water on their backs.
They are waiting for me to go back into the house
before they come closer for today's cracked corn.
Here you can also see the splendid colored feathers
that the females hide in their wings.
I go among trees and sit still.
All my stirring becomes quiet
around me like circles on water.
My tasks lie in their places
where I left them, asleep like cattle.
Then what is afraid of me comes
and lives a while in my sight.
What it fears in me leaves me,
and the fear of me leaves it.
It sings and I hear its song.
After days of labor,
mute in my consternations,
I hear my song at last,
and I sing it. As we sing,
the day turns, the trees move.
A Timbered Choir; the Sabbath Poems 1979-1997
Counterpoint, 1998, page 5.