from Mozart's Third Brain
CXI
Ormöga, 1995
Swallows' wings out the window, when they fly up to the nest
Their light undersides A patch of space over one of earth's landscapes
Below it is limestone, with its other space, downward
Behind me, hidden, to the back of my head, is the sea
The weave of living things, tighter and tighter We look at
the spotted-fly-catcher nestling, its round eyes, streaked head,
in half of a swallow's nest under the eaves, its tail sticks out outside
The darkness of the wings approaches From all directions Whirling
How shall I make anything out in this surging noise? Who
will be gathered up? Which message, to whom?
The flock of starlings comes flying, making tiny sounds The darker
parents feed the lighter chicks When the wind blows
from the northeast, the house is leeward of the grove From there you can hear the cuckoo
The wind stirs up waves in the sea of grass, exposing its different colors
All the different forms of the grass spikes Their aspects scatter the light
Today I will go and see the dead woman I hear her voice
all the time, just as it spoke to me, through all the years
In her voice was honesty, knowledge Never anything false
Nothing can take that away It is perpetuated
