Trickster

Stalker

10 Stalker —for A. Tarkovsky Here, in the meat grinder Squirrels click their teeth, fear in their black eyes— wide-bladed Weeds open cracks in flagstone, a bushy green right to the rickety steps & I— I’m this afternoon, all life long: a warm spell tricks Aphids into hatching, one momentarily golden flutters, then goes gray— a boy with a stick swings at it— they say “the wild Onion’s musk rhymes its girlish flowers,” but it won’t & neither will you, neither will I— Hawk rips open a Robin the desperate flock drives him from the Oak— Hawk, phalanx of Robins— ask the Worm, ask the Cat, ask the Dove ask— “my face sharpens away to bone your face sharpens away to bone—” ...