A Matter of Fact

All through the summer I failed to wring truth out of words,
I crumpled my notebook and set the pages on fire,
Walked out the door and started north, then south,
Stopped undecided and leaned on the fence’s wire.

In this barren land directions went nowhere of course,
The signposts added miles in a column of noughts,
My shoulders ached with their weight, I stared at a field
Already threshed and tried to stand out of my thought.

And there in the stubble a bird’s step focused my eyes
On truth as it is, I forgot the past and the crops
That did not mature, absorbed in a matter of fact:
On the ground a meadowlark walks but a catbird hops.