Lesser Goldfinch: Tubac, Arizona — Image by kenne
In the fields we let them have— in the fields
we don’t want yet—
where thistles rise out of the marshlands of spring, and spring open— each bud a settlement of riches—
a coin of reddish fire— the finches
wait for midsummer, for the long days,
for the brass heat, for the seeds to begin to form in the hardening thistles, dazzling as the teeth of mice, but black,
filling the face of every flower. Then they drop from the sky.
— from Goldfinches by Mary Oliver
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