Unnamed Bird

In the disarray of duties and distractions

I lift my voice with hopeless hands

up from the mire it won't speak of

like an eye on long arms held above the roof.

The voice held up by a voice that won't speak

pressed like sensing nerves against vibration

explodes with desire for more until its job

is done. I see the subject and it is old.

I sustain the lifting and feel a wind

but the voice's eye sees ocean and new birds

then sings, and after, falls to cursing old loves

and joy unbestowed, never to come again

as before. I lower the eye to look at

myself and the voice says what I feel,

an elbow and a fist to mouth steeled

for thought without desire, to begin

a day by the ocean and sky with an unnamed bird.

Lawrence Bridges' poetry has appeared in The New Yorker, Poetry, and The Tampa Review. He has published three volumes of poetry: Horses on Drums (Red Hen Press, 2006), Flip Days (Red Hen Press, 2009), and Brownwood (Tupelo Press, 2016). You can find him on IG: @larrybridges