The Limits of Art

From Babel’s tower rebuilt in ink,
the poet’s forged bird sings.
The reader lured from below
follows the song to where he begins
to know past what he understands.

The page turns. The song wanes.
An airless night falls. Black mates
white to silent blue guitars. Dolphins
swim breathless and deep. The cold
startles the snowman into melting.

In a park walk a young husband and wife.
Thirteen identical blackbirds on the green
graze dumbly like cattle. He carries
the anthology he assigned to students.
The couple talks of numbers. He likes three.
She says she’s too old and prefers two.
They talk of names and welcome the night.