On the wrens' backs, saddled men with pinprick spurs drive;
in the growing maples, men turn cranks to push new wood out;
behind the skies, men press lit buttons to press on the wheeling stars.
Phalanxes of wrens, the threads of their flight passing through
raised root and nut-bough alike; standing armies of surly trees,
winding shoulder chafed by bristling stars; circling stars,
beaming down and seeking, seeking the last move of a hopping wren.
Men, pointing men, at a fair and fine remove, do all.
-2002
