Tagore Variations 2

I don’t know

the words—

and to this I came to sing.

Played scales and rudiments

but still inside my wordlessness, a fledgling

nudged from nest to branch, and when I try the air

cottonwoods grow steep, leaves clutter.

I fall with a chirp, listening

like mockingbirds huddled on a log.

Trill, someone: chut and yeep.

Teach me yawp and keew.

This grass is growing tall and deep.

Sing, someone. Teach me ahem,

teach me amen and in-between.

I’m here, shivering in the blades, and you

wonder of wings in other trees, you

person walking and pausing

at the wooden foot of trees—because you’re here

we’re in this together.