GOLDFINCHES

into a settled
order of things
into an understanding
a gust
of goldfinches


they flock to larches
to waste and stubble
to feed on seeds
of thistles and teasels
the hearts of sunflowers


nest of roots and bents
flight a dancing a twinkling
song of tinkling variations
wings gilded
a rose hip for a head


after the storm
thorns stripped bare
ragwort in rags
the day in tatters
until brushed by a wing


—Thomas A Clark