Deliver
Between the hours of five and seven,
A mezzotint of sky makes green
The dipping boughs of a catalpa tree.
And when the neighbor clicks on night,
Yellow switches to yellow by the light
Of a fading blue outside.
Between the hours of five and seven.
Too many halfway hours
That make the birds croon.
One life becomes so contingent
On another, you'd think it didn't know
Any other way to be itself.
As when I hold out my palms
Because there are flocks that come to pass
Upon the one that counts them,
I need the birds to come. I need
To know what to do with my hands.
