...asking if I'd "--left the kitchen because it was too hot?" as I'd brownies in the oven and dinner warming on the stove.
Lo, nary voice flits through this warm pretense
Whose eye is April's in a trice, the pale
Blue heavns white clouds dim with four geese' detail,
And yes, a silent flock of birds which thence
Fly past, light flashing off their wings, a sense
Of deathly naught held like a notice frail
Warm hours are but a tease, as sparrows fail
To merrly answer, whiles I feign what hence?
Thin nonchalance, just as last night in tour
Where I "performed" sae poorly with a crew
Of local poets at the Lit Fest. Were
Their kindness not Thy mercies, LORD, what through
Our vain hours should we answer? Is't sae poor
I cherish 'gain these minutes I once knew?
I'd only thought in looking out the kitchen window on all that it was too silent in the kitchen sans bird voices, when lo, there were none to be heard after all. NOTE for L14: in 2011 I used to hang out on the back stoop in the warmer hours.