Dying Man Hears Thrush

she sings
like a mild lute,
as if peace tuned
her arpeggios.

i don’t know
who fashioned this nymph,
or how she
dispels a latticework
of chirps

to lullaby
in gracious tones-

or why each note
strolls a different hall
of memory,

inlays a sensation
of pure touch, my body
hostage to dulcet phrase-

trill of a gypsy
i never knew,
though trees hoard
her jewelled sighs-

why now
will i melt into delight-
that ancient sensual

~ Chris Crittenden

Chris Crittenden says that he is “a quirky hermit living in the easternmost town in Maine, just a few miles from the Canadian border,” and that “the beautiful nature inspires me, but I hate the way that development threatens to gobble it up!”

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