Ode, Elegy, Aubade, Psalm Poem by Ryan Teitman

The songbird that escapes
from a burning house
will build its nest
in the shape of a cage.
2
This is one thing
we know: song begs
for the places that make it
grow from seed to starling,
3
places that put the heart's hemlock
in an empty rowboat
and heave it from the shore.
4
We only praise what we cannot
keep: violin strings berried with rain,
teacups overflowing with brandywine,
radios sickened with static.
5
Glass tossed out with the tide
will come back smoother and stranger,
but never to the same person.
6
This is something we want
to know. The woman in love
never touches her ears.
7
The man in his house is always lost
without her.
8
Morning pulls light
from the dark like a boy
hoisting a trout from the lake
by its clean, pink gills.
9
When the woman escapes
from a burning house
she will know the path of the wind,
10
how it writes its scripture
in peach blossoms blown
into a baby's empty pram.
11
She'll feel it compose its words
against her body, against the night,
against the water, in an endless, artless psalm.