loaded with somnulent chimes and finches' chat,
waking from time to time to lick a stripe or scratch
a twitch, then spills itself again on Laura's settee,
too drunk to mind the brawling crows or pounding
from the wood shop where my daughter is making
a dollhouse and sweats as she rasps her plank
or labors with a back saw.
Sometimes she mars the wood and has to start over,
learning faith weighs more than force
in the art of getting it right, her dream house.
A wren flits back and forth building a nest
in the beams, in the pine-sweet air
where spending oneself is sleep bursting open.
(c)Suzanne Clark (Rhodes ) 1999
from What A Light Thing, This Stone
Sow's Ear Press, Abingdon, VA
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