October 30, 2019KR OnlinePoetry

Villanelle of the Passing of Harold Bloom

I was going to write to you last week but delayed
till I could add a bit of news that hadn’t quite resolved—
in a season of nest failures new nests have been made.

I wake this morning after an uneasy night to be told
you’ve passed away—the distance suddenly collapsed—
I was going to write to you last week but delayed.

I will read my way through today so each word
is a codicil to your subscript that parrots, too, can serve as guides—
in a season of nest failures new nests have been made.

The grass is testy is on its edge as sap is dragged
back down to roots and green gives way to “straw-colored”—
I was going to write to you last week but delayed.

Though the systems are losing their encoded
ways, even their faith, we plant trees and hear tenacious birds—
in a season of nest failures new nests have been made.

And though I will not see you again, I am grieved
in ways that will grow like nighthawks in the moon’s blood—
I was going to write to you last week and delayed
but in a season of nest failures new nests have been made.