RUTH DAIGON
TO SING UNENCUMBERED

by the dead,
to find new ways among the living
as night breaks its vow of silence
letting darkness out

to sing like birds
in passionate anonymity
all swoop and soar
stunned again by morning

to sing in the shell of time
and wait for echoes from the deep
the smell of salt and gulls calling
the always mystery of fogs

to sing our numbered hours
and spin the inner moons of earth
with rarity of simple things like snow
and windows frosted white

to sing an octave above the past
against a loud silence, the extravagance of loss
when all was garden, grace and eden
where nothing when it happened was enough

to sing faithful to the flesh
the heart's percussion
the naked sprawl of days

is to celebrate that we have come this far