← v9n2, Fall 2010Poetry · Volume 9, Number 2
El Laberinto
,
.
Bet in the wet it's scary,
circles of hedge above our heads.
Dry season, April, we can see
five or six rows through
so no worries. At the center
a high gazebo, with Escher
mazes morphing. We scan
the whole garden
the dead ends.
A nesting
clay-colored robin
regards us, her beak
trailing untrimmed
a waist-length
beard of moss.
When her mouth's
not full,
she sings the rain.
