MORNING OCCURRENCE AT XANADU by Charles Wright
Swallows are flying grief-circles over their featherless young,
Night-dropped and dead on the wooden step.
The aspen leaves have turned grey, slapped by the hard, west wind.
Someone who knows how little he knows
Is like the man who comes to a clearing in the forest, and sees the light spikes
And suddenly senses how happy his life has been.
(from Scar Tissue, 2006, FSG)