Patti Trimble

Patti Trimble Poems

The Best Poem Of Patti Trimble

To The Thrush

TO THE THRUSH

In your place
I would have bones filled with air,
a beak to pull the work of hands,
a head I turn entirely
to see the whole of things.

Each season
I would shape a new home,
my wing stirring the sky—
sit until I find myself
in service of new life.

Tibetans say to build five homes
and abandon them
is how we learn to fly.

In your place
I would suffer impermanence
with irrepressible singing.

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