lluminated
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The secret bird refuses to be known.
Its color is a flavor still unnamed,
More like a smell than scarlet, a tone,
Shennai in voice perhaps. It won’t be framed
In French Provincial white and gold. It won’t
Be painted onto anything but mist.
It wings don’t even whisper and they don’t
Say words like “John and Jesus never kissed.”
Its shape is not as bird-like as a youth
