Fountaining lobelia: we hang a pair

on the porch to welcome summer and ward

off broken bones. Purple finches weave

a perfectly symmetrical nest. The male

perches on the guy wire and sings.

I dream the Rembrandt Mary cradling,

shepherd’s flute and the muffled lowing,

the infant’s cooing in the cattle-clogged

room, the birds' haunted singing, sun whirling

waters, trees sucking dreams from stone.

Are we vanished into a pure weather,

evaporation of a drifting tone?

Whirl your nest, center-spun, of grass, feather

and thistle— fountaining shadows, we hang a pair

to the sun-pounding, hand stroking hair,

oh care for us. Flute song, fingers dancing

sound holes, the cry: infant-sweet song of air.