This poem is taken from Poetry Nation 5 Number 5, 1975.
Bird-WatcherIt returns to the same nest. The watcher lies
Beneath spring brushwood to await its coming -
At watch so long he dreams himself becoming
Less than himself and more, the landscape's eyes.
Though far beyond his eyes, beyond the range
Of field-glasses, he knows it breaks no bonds:
Its instinct to his knowledge corresponds,
Riding the current of the season's change.
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