Poem: James Wright

Forming a blessing on those trembling lips,
He dropped to his knees and sang out
As free as a bee and as drunk as Li-Po.
With no brush or quill, he made words
For the wind and lived to regret nothing.

At night, he summoned the old shades,
Their nods a gallery of applause
And leveled bony guiltfingers, history's dare:
The thing itself justifies the shuffle.
Hung over the void on a bouncing limb,
He watched Norwegian rats nibble the roots,
Edging the tree further into the dark.
He knew, as well as you, that the branch would break.
---o0o---