A Field of Finches Without Sight Still Singing
That song comes from sorrow there is no doubt.
Bullfinches in ancient times had eyes put out
so they would sing more sweet. Think of
those black beads dropped to earth coming
to seed flowers turning inward every single
one of them without its sight.
Stories say that moving in the wind they
made up song as if nothing had been lost and
this rings long into the night. Every sound
we hear turns to a bigger one and each is
true. We add our own until it is the first
din ever heard, the way poetry begins.
Copyright © by Grace Cavalieri. Used with the permission of the poet.