deep in the dark of a box hedge
each morning, first light nowhere

in sight? It makes no sense as they
saturate the air with the same

sound, sung the same way against
a prehistoric emptiness shadows

still can’t find. Such blindness
betrays itself for the sake of such

predawn celebrations, sparrows
soon to be hopping about popcorn

in a park or paralyzed between
talons of a hawk—sing madly,

sparrows, camouflage your fear.
The world will never speak

the language of light and dark—
it’s grown too thick in its own

definitions to keep from flying
any further than a single sound.

 

 

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George Bishop’s work has appeared in Carolina Quarterly and Lindenwood Review. He is the author of seven chapbooks, Following Myself Home winning the 2013 Peter Meinke Prize. His recent full length collection One Dance was published in October 2016 by FutureCyclePress. He attended Rutgers University and now lives in Saint Cloud, Florida.