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.
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.