Urban sonnet

If eager goldfinch knitted rope, entwined
through hawthorn, urgent instinct loosens free,
are bright with flash or crimson blaze enshrined
...when summer scorches red it could be me
when lying prone on beach or under tree,
in pensive mood when I gaze out to sea,

If darkened lakes have troubled waves reflect
a dying forest's lonely leafless tree...
when time is stretched with endless hours neglect
as late November breaks, it could be me
among the rushes singing sweet my plea
against the sun and moon's final decree.

If gathered swallows ghost in autumn's shade,
and scissor night with scarlet skies that flee
then darkling eves almost the stars invade
where shadows slowly dance, it might be me
that heads like ships that seek the sheltered quay
or sheep that search a fold across sharp scree

But if spring's warm earth breaks the winter’s fast,
explodes in green...reveals my heart at last.