Don Bogen
THREE CRADLE SONGS
Norman Dinerstein, composer
1937-1982
When sowers scatter wind
under the whirling sun
burlap sacks swing
with the light's motion.
The rocking glide of work
and slowing clock of flesh
round the day. When seed
tumbles like a wish
on darkening air it sings
what no one hears.
At work's end the field
is whispering stars.
*
All domestic things. The first alert
rap of coffee on the tongue, the fit
of the mug's familiar handle, winter light
fresh through kitchen windows and the half-burnt
smell from the toaster filling a warming room.
The body is a house. Praise it. Praise morning
in its various common songs: linoleum
creaking underfoot, the saucepan's thrum,
the small precise egg timer ringing and ringing
