A red-winged blackbird wavers
On the fattened flower of a long cattail,
Which bends itself into a pale, thin shadow
Beneath the capricious sun. I think of Zagajewski
In this swaying light. I praise him for his words, despair
And revelation. Here I have found
An estimation of a marriage, truly. Hatred,
Happiness. This morning I can say, Yes, my love
Is thorough. The blackbird swings itself into the sky.