Hedge
we unload the freight of day
as night wraps up what day has told
there’s not much more to say—
myself in shade, eagle in her hold
both are restless in day’s throes.
who among us really understands
what night becomes, where daylight goes,
who know the ground, the place we stand?
still the worm in unturned earth makes way,
a cardinal, blood red, in a maple’s crown
is more tuned than I am to the stuff the earth displays:
what lifts it up, what presses down
what’s hidden keeps us on the edge
with those we love our only hedge
.
by Jim Culleny
4/25/13