Animal Language Gets Less CreditThan Its Particulars Contain

ducks in threes or fives or sevens

drift & mutter, frequently quack

conversations I hardly comprehend

surely my rubbing & purring cat

conveys her heartfelt thanks

for kibble I pour into her bowl

likewise dogs straining at leashes

the neighbor’s dogs barking

pawing at chain-link fences

beg to chase & circle & lick

or kill whatever it is they see

clouds of bees buzz, snakes hiss

crickets chirp, frogs trill & peep

& croak & rattle & twang & snore

it can’t be all about hunting & sex

why not they’re minding the store?

Pastoral

by William Carlos Williams

The little sparrows

hop ingenuously

about the pavement

quarreling

with sharp voices

over those things

that interest them.

But we who are wiser

shut ourselves in

on either hand

and no one knows

whether we think good

or evil.

Meanwhile,

the old man who goes about

gathering dog-lime

walks in the gutter

without looking up

and his tread

is more majestic than

that of the Episcopal minister

approaching the pulpit

of a Sunday.

These things

astonish me beyond words.

Every Bright Color Is Dun

Whatever bird one sees

by dusk its every bright color is dun.

Tilting condors sail above the Andes

wingspread dark against the sun.

Far from plain, most truths elude

our knowing, representation’s dense

fabric muddies what first was nude,

confuses false starts with dead ends.

Consider the mischievous goddess Luna

interweaving the heartstrings of sane

householders, broadcasting DNA

between neighbors, seeding a lean

child in a plump brood. Fatherhood dual

yet undetected scotches any duel.

from In the American Grain

by William Carlos Williams

And bitter as the thought may be that Tenochtitlan, the barbaric city, its people, its genius wherever found should have been crushed out because of the awkward names men give their emptiness, yet it was no man’s fault. It was the force of the pack whom the dead drive.