RE: The Bird Carver (David McKain)

You bring me to a man
Who is perhaps even handsome,
Because I should not say
He has the look of the land,

I mean the gnarls of trees he passes,
Or stoops under, grabbing a branch
Maybe or a sapling
From his pocket

Of course
Because the ground is not dry
And it is cold

And whittling through the idea --

It is not perched on the stump
In the wind ahead of him:
It is like an after-image,
It is something ignited
And still glowing within.

Yes, he is young and handsome,
Even after so many winters,
Because his eyes have not absorbed
The glint of the snow
Through his tracks

I do not mean
He was not looking down at his feet,
On those hikes,
So that his eyes
Would be rather a simile
For the blue sky,

But that there are characters
The land cannot shape…

Cannot shape?

Because he is the original
Of his mind,
Like anyone self-made,
Whatever else composes him,
And like the birds he carves.