Little Bird

All dizzy the afternoon,
A little bird wove symbols
Above the remains of the field.
Now lines, now plummeting rings,
Each to me indecipherable
Save their liberty from the frozen spring.
Who are you? And
Do you know the name of anything?
How can you spin so free
With the weight of such awful ancestry?
For those once living now dust
Through the afternoons that shaped your bones –
Is the beauty of lines enough?

Who are we? And
Do we know the name of anything?
Might we dance eternally
At the end of history?