by Shakespeare the nightingale sings at night
but the lark before dawn, for by this Romeo knows
he has to leave. At home I know only dusk songs
but here always associate the song birds with
late spring late nights in deep goodale
lovedrenched 4am birds in the courtyard tree
the sounds of limbs interwoven attempting
to escape sweat and sheet speechless
slow honey amber time
and then the birds as fast clocks
swooping slow contours on slumbering brains
and the ridges arms make on chests and stomachs
their songs bringing motion again
to tongues and fingertips alone
Lovers as the bass to birdsong, that I know
only with these cambridge birds