Bless the blackbird.
All is held in stasis
When she sings.
Her song clears out
The splintered thoughts.
She does not rest
Where the gardeners
Have humanized their hedges;
No straight lines in her voice,
Geometry is not in her nature.
For her alone, a song replies.
Howard Benn
One of the Headingley Open Gardens collection. Click to see the full list