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"scandens" poems
“These birds are the most singular of any in the Galapagos.”                                                                    Charles Darwin. Volcanic up swell, tick mark, tiny dot in the middle of a blue map. Stationary ship, belly of the earth like a backstroke swimmer in a blue-black sea, where erratic rains run away while a Cactus Finch (Scandens) has gone black to mate, so black that shadows cast blushes back.  So black, more silhouette than a black beaked bird Daphne, on your barred black belly, this fine breath’d bird, this penumbra of feathers and flight; demonstrating divergence and drift, so proud he sings aloud the song of the Ground Finch (Fortis).  O befuddled bird bereft an opera coach, sans score  of Scandens,  the bird song bindery gone  bankrupt,  loose leaf scores littered, learning a  neighbor’s second hand sheet music.  Amid the volcanic dreams of Finches, and bird shaped voids,  singing atop cacti, amid these small dark commas  set against  a bluer than blue sky,  he sings the wrong song  but it's been a good year  and she comes, the star crossed lover, Lady Fortis. And before the rains return, and they will return,                   a small clutch of stars. And when the rains return, they will return                       with long lost letters from London.
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Oct 16, 2017
Oct 16, 2017 at 12:05 PM UTC
christopher-leibow
Daphne Major, Galapagos
“These birds are the most singular of any in the Galapagos.”                                                                    Charles Darwin. Volcanic up swell, tick mark, tiny dot in the middle of a blue map. Stationary ship, belly of the earth like a backstroke swimmer in a blue-black sea, where erratic rains run away while a Cactus Finch (Scandens) has gone black to mate, so black that shadows cast blushes back.  So black, more silhouette than a black beaked bird Daphne, on your barred black belly, this fine breath’d bird, this penumbra of feathers and flight; demonstrating divergence and drift, so proud he sings aloud the song of the Ground Finch (Fortis).  O befuddled bird bereft an opera coach, sans score  of Scandens,  the bird song bindery gone  bankrupt,  loose leaf scores littered, learning a  neighbor’s second hand sheet music.  Amid the volcanic dreams of Finches, and bird shaped voids,  singing atop cacti, amid these small dark commas  set against  a bluer than blue sky,  he sings the wrong song  but it's been a good year  and she comes, the star crossed lover, Lady Fortis. And before the rains return, and they will return,                   a small clutch of stars. And when the rains return, they will return                       with long lost letters from London.
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