At dawn I squat on the garage with snuff under a lip to sweeten the roofing nails -- my shoes and pant cuffs are wet with dew. In the orchard the peach trees sway with the loud weight of birds, green fruit, yellow haze. And my hammer -- the cold head taps, then swings its first full arc; the sound echoes against the barn, muffled in the loft, and out the other side, then lost in the noise of the birds as they burst from the trees. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...COUNSEIL TO A BACHELER by MARIANNE MOORE MORAL ESSAYS: EPISTLE 4. TO RICHARD BOYLE, EARL BURLINGTON by ALEXANDER POPE DEATH AND CUPID; AN ALLEGORY by JOHN GODFREY SAXE THE OTHER WORLD by HARRIET BEECHER STOWE |