Ira Sadoff

Once I Could Say

Once I could say
my loyal friend, the house wren.

I might even sing to him.
Did I not hear the beatific,

the breathlessness –
a patter shaking the tamarind pod,

the bright green feathery foliage
stammered by a breeze?

Those muttering implosions,
did nothing intend them?

Is the harp, too, obsolete?
When the wren took his awl

to the infested branch
he fed me an idea there.

Ira Sadoff

Posted on February 18, 2008 6:54 AM