Wood Nuptial

THE woods are still; the scent of old rain stirs
Out of the trampled fronds and over us;
And now the evening air is glamorous
With parley of the bramble gossipers,
And fireflies who trace diameters
Of light along a winking radius,
And rasping saws, and the continuous
Insistence of the thicket carpenters.

The architects of night are scaffolding
Our minster to a pandemonium
Of flute and timbrel, warmth of brass and string,
And thrill of triangle and tympanum;
The Reverend Beetle hems his fa’s and do’s,
And frogs intone their oratorios.