The Ducks

Poemata 84

Many sounds of ducks / the all-curious trawlers / remain unremarked

Bright and brindled beasts, from shore and muddy seeps--
 Seen on wing so far
  Far as the furthest star --
True survivors now as sailor floating sleeps
 Ships of flesh and bone
  Wanderers without a home;
Cold and dark the years so writ upon your frame
 Black horizon's rim
  Winter's dim sun filt'ring in;
Never wet, so wet as I without a name
 Stumble through this night
  Century robbed of all light;
Nameless travelers, so snug in feather-bed
 Chitter as you will
  Many such spaces to fill;
Thin-skinned watcher, I, must surely bow my head
 Crouching through the reeds
  Brushing the brown sticking seeds;
Cheerful creature, why? Must all in nature speak
 I alone left mute
  Come not to draw nor to shoot;
Voices clear, though now no verb nor noun but creak
 Quack and cluck and chirp
  Knowing no words but a quirk;
I, tho words I have, no voice have I of mine
 Echoes of a place
   Memories left of a face;
Should I cry aloud, in this, the end of time?
 Must mistaken be 
  For someone other than me.